<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Ice Cream Castles by gobstoneswithhector</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29601399">Ice Cream Castles</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/gobstoneswithhector/pseuds/gobstoneswithhector'>gobstoneswithhector</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne &amp; Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Character(s) of Color, Festivals, First Kiss, Flirting, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Getting Together, Ice Cream, Latino Albus Potter, Love, M/M, Potters of Color, Relationship(s), Romance</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 02:22:25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>18,650</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29601399</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/gobstoneswithhector/pseuds/gobstoneswithhector</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s the weekend of a popular wizarding festival, and Scorpius Malfoy has decided to go, despite his fear of amusement park rides and no one to go with. </p>
<p>While there, he sees his study partner and long-time crush, Albus Potter, working a booth for his family’s paletería. Scorpius eats a lot of ice cream, nieves, and paletas and learns just how Albus shows affection and how he may have been feeling all along.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Astoria Greengrass/Draco Malfoy, Scorpius Malfoy &amp; Albus Severus Potter, Scorpius Malfoy/Albus Severus Potter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>137</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Love Languages Mini Fest</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Ice Cream Castles</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This was written for the Love Languages Next Gen Mini-Fest, for the love language Acts of Service and the prompt, “Character A leaves love notes in Character B’s lunch.” </p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Friday</strong>
</p>
<p>The bravest thing Scorpius Malfoy ever did was decide to go to the summer's biggest festival by himself.</p>
<p>Because festivals were fun and full of people. And fun things made Scorpius nervous, and too many people made Scorpius feel alone.</p>
<p>So understandably, Scorpius was anxious. </p>
<p>He could have begged his father to go with him. He could have bribed his mother. He could have not gone at all and instead spent the week holed up in his manor with his books. But instead, he laced up his trainers, dabbed some Sulien Summerbee Enchanted Sun-Protection Butter on his nose and cheeks, and, just outside the Malfoy Manor wrought-iron gates, turned on the spot and disappeared with a <i>pop.</i> </p>
<p>Dobby’s Birthday Party happened every year for one weekend in June near the village of Abbots Ripton in Cambridgeshire. Scorpius had been to the festival once before, when he was ten and too small to ride most of the rides. When he was not yet taller than his mother and nowhere near as tall as his father, and where everyone around him seemed bigger and bolder, Scorpius was overwhelmed. </p>
<p>The one ride he did get on was called the Dizzy Dragon. Scorpius and his mum were sat inside a metal replica of a Ukranian Ironbelly, which whirled slowly around and around while also hovering in the air. Astoria laughed and Scorpius squealed as they spun slowly, lifting off at the ride’s start.</p>
<p>But the spinning got faster, and the view around the Ironbelly’s egg-shaped carriage became blurrier. And Scorpius could only think about his mum being propelled from her seat and plummeting to her death, or the whole contraption coming apart and catching fire. He felt pressure in his abdomen rising like a helium balloon and bile creeping up into his throat, but he was still spinning and spinning. </p>
<p>Promptly after stepping off the ride, Scorpius vomited a day’s worth of cotton candy and popcorn all over his shoes. </p>
<p>While Astoria was able to Scourgify the sick off of him, the sour, ripe smell of the partially-digested spun sugar stuck inside Scorpius’s nose, making him feel ill the rest of the day. Not even a giant singing balloon or a performance by a troupe of Cornish pixies on center stage made Scorpius feel better. So, the little family left the magical fairgrounds, and Scorpius spent the rest of his summer thinking about the other seasons of the year and how he’d soon be spending them at Hogwarts, where the chances of him overdosing on fun and vomiting were slim. Probably.  </p>
<p>But seven years later, freshly seventeen and of legal age to do magic outside of school, and with the blessing and goodbye kisses of Draco and Astoria Malfoy, two parents just excited to see their son willingly leave the house and embark on the smallest of adventures, Scorpius was ready to try the popular festival again. </p>
<p>Since starting Hogwarts, summers were a bit boring. He’d arrive at Platform 9 ¾ at the end of term, as usual, meet his parents, and together they’d go home. He’d start his summer homework immediately, taking up most of the main dining table with all his books and parchment and colored ink and quills, and relish being back in the comforts of the Malfoy estate. </p>
<p>But after a month, Scorpius would get antsy. His homework never took too long (and one year he even owled Headmistress McGonagall, asking for additional research assignments—she owled him back with a firm “No.” and a post-script of “Don’t be tiresome.”) and as much as he liked reading, sitting in the Manor’s library or in his room, curled up with a book and tea, got a bit dull after the fiftieth time. </p>
<p>Draco and Astoria wanted Scorpius to go outdoors, so he did. He walked their gardens and sat by the fountain. He walked the Manor’s perimeter and went into Wiltshire. He went with his mum to do the shopping and to get something to eat and with his dad to get coffee or to buy more books. And he loved his parents, he really did. But Scorpius couldn’t help but wish that he had a friend to spend the summers with or to at least write to. </p>
<p>Scorpius was friendly, and he was charming. But he was also shy, and he kept to himself. He was also a Malfoy. </p>
<p>And being a Malfoy casted a shadow over him at school. People were cordial, sure, but they never got too close. They asked him for his notes and (mostly) followed his direction when he would flash his shiny Prefect’s badge and tell them to get out of the corridor and back to bed. A few of his classmates were kind to him.</p>
<p>But still—</p>
<p>He was a Malfoy. </p>
<p>A Malfoy who had successfully Apparated all the way to Cambridgeshire by himself. Well, if you count landing on your bum in the grass with a harsh <i>plonk</i> that rattled your spine all the way up to your brain successful, which Scorpius did. </p>
<p>Wincing, Scorpius stood up, brushed himself off, and watched other wizards and witches appear all around him, most much more graceful than him and some stumbling as their children, Side-Alonged and swaying gleefully, threw them off balance. Others were walking the field that led up to the Abbots Ripton property that hosted the festival, probably having Portkeyed there. </p>
<p>In any case, everyone looked excited. Happiness thrummed throughout the sweeping grounds that surrounded the estate, which was large and sprawling and belonged to an old wizarding family. Scorpius’s father had known the people that lived at the large farmhouse. Rumor was that Draco Malfoy had actually partially funded the festival after hearing about its name. </p>
<p>The location of the festival was enchanted, of course, from Muggle eyes and wayward travelers of the non-magic variety. Locals called the old farmhouse and its surrounding land the Secret Gardens, because it was mostly unplottable and full of lush greenery, flowers that bloomed year-round, hidden pathways sealed by cottage doors wrapped in vines, and a large, private lake. It was the perfect place to host a festival of summer fun. </p>
<p>If one liked that sort of thing, which Scorpius had decided that morning that he did. Oh, what fun he would have. Probably. </p>
<p>An archway of pink, blue, orange, and white balloons marked the entrance. There was a small statue as well, of a little floppy-eared elf with a hat and mismatched socks, who stood proudly and grinning at each person who passed it. On the plaque at its feet read, “Dobby, a free elf who loved a good party. Born June 28th.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The festival grounds were already bustling on that first day, even though it was not nearly ten in the morning. Little boys and girls were shrieking as they ran around, their parents calling after them. A parade of wizards playing glockenspiels and tubas and drums was winding a path through the crowd, instruments blaring and confetti swirling all around. </p>
<p>There were so many things and people to look at that Scorpius didn’t know where to start. Multicolored tents had popped up everywhere, as well as stands selling food and drink tickets and exchanging knuts for enchanted little coins for rides and games. Booths were starting to come into view as Scorpius walked farther from the entrance, some advertising fizzy lemonade and others giant popping corn that exploded into smaller bite-sized pieces before your eyes. </p>
<p>Jugglers tossing flaming bowling pins rode about on flying unicycles, and balloon artists with exaggerated striped trousers and rainbow suspenders inflated and twisted up their balloons to make nifflers and kneazles and crups. </p>
<p>And in the distance, Scorpius could see the tops of the rides. A big wheel and a twirly thing. The spinning broom swings that were already revolving and lifting and lowering back down. And the pointed tip and decorated turrets of a carousel peeked out from behind some more tents. Everything was so bright and so colorful and so lively. </p>
<p>The festival-goers were decorated as well. Many had gold and fuschia and teal and violet facepaint around their eyes. Some had adorned their faces with little jewels or sequins. Girls and boys were wearing fairy wings or dragon wings or Hippogriff feathers. Scorpius himself felt a little underdressed. </p>
<p>Unable to contain his grin, Scorpius walked the grounds some more, admiring the lake and the people brave enough to dip their feet in, and the lovely landscaped gardens somehow resisting the crowd’s trampling feet. </p>
<p>Before he got too deep into the property, Scorpius stopped at a stand and exchanged his pocket money for tickets and coins. He continued to walk the perimeter of the lake and watched dragonflies hover over the water’s surface. The farther he went, the more dense the crowd became. Stages had started to appear, some with instruments already stacked onto the platforms. There were more booths even farther down the grassy paths, and more tents. </p>
<p>Scorpius read the signs and banners.</p>
<p><i>Honeydukes Pop-Up-Shop</i> was sandwiched between the <i>Secret Garden Tea House</i> and a fragrant booth called the <i>Curry Cafe</i>. Not wanting another vomiting incident and already feeling his insides twist unpleasantly at the memory, Scorpius breezed past <i>Spun Sugar and Cotton Confections</i> but mentally noted to pay a visit to the <i>Fountain of Fair Fizzy Drinks</i> after seeing a witch propel streams of bubbly, colorful liquid out of the tip of her wand and into tall glasses lining her booth. </p>
<p>The booths and tents weren’t all food-oriented. <i>Parkinson Portrait Studio (Now with Muggle Props!)</i> had a line of families, and the click and shutters of magical cameras could be heard from outside on the path. <i>Bohemian Boutique Wizardwear</i> advertised shawls and slouchy bags and beaded jewelry. Further down, a large dark blue tent with sparkling stars held <i>Luna’s Oddities and Curiosities</i>, while a smaller stand with a grumpy-looking wizard dozing off on the stool behind it displayed <i>Discount Fortune Telling and Palmistry (No Refunds, No Exceptions).</i></p>
<p>Scorpius walked on, the coins in his pocket jingling and feeling heavy as they had yet to be spent on something <i>fun</i>. He saw one of the old signposts that were scattered throughout the grounds, pointing and swiveling in the right direction whenever some lost wanderer needed it. The closer he approached, the faster the sign spun. Maybe Scorpius was unsure of where to go next, because the sign couldn’t stop oscillating between <i>More Food!</i> and <i>Rides &amp; Games</i> at the Fun Park.</p>
<p>Hopping from one foot to the other, Scorpius finally decided to check out more food. Mostly because he was a bit peckish, but also because he was a bit afraid to get on a ride after what happened the last time. </p>
<p>So he turned left and headed onward. </p>
<p>And it was then that he saw him. </p>
<p>Sitting there, nose deep in a book, messy black hair flicking up slightly in the summer breeze, was Albus Potter. </p>
<p>Scorpius knew Albus fairly well. They didn’t have many classes together, since Scorpius was sorted into Hufflepuff and Albus into Slytherin so many years ago, but they did see each other occasionally when their houses met for doubles and twice weekly when it was time for Arithmancy, Scorpius’s favorite class. </p>
<p>Yes, Scorpius enjoyed Arithmancy most of all. More than Charms or History of Magic and definitely more than Flying. Partly because he liked learning about the magical properties of numbers, but also because Albus was his Arithmancy partner. And Albus was very clever and very funny and <i>very</i> cute.</p>
<p>It was quite the tragedy that Scorpius had the biggest, most desperate, and probably painfully obvious, crush on Albus Potter. And poor Albus was either too oblivious or too kind to tell Scorpius off. </p>
<p>Scorpius positioned himself behind a family levitating their camera to take a photo (he inwardly apologized to them if his bright head of white-blond hair happened to show up and ruin the moment) just to get in a few more seconds of good staring at Albus through the throng of people. </p>
<p>There was no one at Albus’s booth yet, which Scorpius could see now was called Paletería Potter. He mouthed the words to himself: <i>Paletería Potter.</i> </p>
<p>He frowned. What was this? The Potters owned uh—Scorpius squinted as he tried to scan the letterboard sign posted to a beam below the booth’s awning—an ice cream shop? Did Scorpius know this? Why didn’t he know this? </p>
<p>He talked to Albus enough, he thought. They got on quite well, actually, when Scorpius wasn’t playing out fantasies of him and Albus out together hand-in-hand in Hogsmeade or sneaking around a dark corner of the library or alone in the cozy and warm, timbered hidey hole that was his dormitory (or down in the cool dungeons—Scorpius wasn’t picky), tightly entwined behind the heavy curtains of a four-poster—</p>
<p>Anyway. He did know Albus. They had been partners in Arithmancy since Third Year when no one else would sit next to him. When he was sat, slouching and head down, buried in a book and pretending to read (when actually it was hard to see any words on the page with his eyes tearing up), and someone shuffled next to him. Albus had pulled the chair out, and asked “Is this seat free?” and that was that. </p>
<p>They exchanged mild pleasantries at first, and a little more throughout the year. <i>Hello. How are you? Do you play Quidditch? Me neither. What else are you taking? Have a good weekend? Finish the homework? Can I copy yours?</i></p>
<p>And then they sat together again in Fourth Year. And then Fifth. They took their O.W.L. exams right next to each other, sneaking smirks as they silently raced to see who could finish first. It didn’t matter in the end, because they both earned Outstandings. </p>
<p>And this last year, their Sixth, everything had wonderfully been the same. They took their usual seats in the beginning of September and, both now taller and more filled out, bumped elbows and brushed knees as they took notes on the first lecture of the term. </p>
<p>Even Professor Vector stayed as constant as a dragonfold sequence or Lehmer’s conjecture. Every class of every year she ambled in, bent and knobbly like an old piece of ginger, with a few sparse hairs sprouting from unusual places, but still as sharp as the day she was hired. Probably. Scorpius wasn’t there. </p>
<p>He’s often wondered if she’d go the way of Binns, but instead of floating up out of her chair while reading a passage on a goblin rebellion, she’d keel over while writing out the law of the iterated logarithm. Then rise once more, slightly paler, and give Scorpius and Albus another detention for giggling. </p>
<p>Oh, yes, Scorpius earned a handful of detentions while at Hogwarts, much to his parents’ amusement (“He’s such a good boy, Astoria. Why not get into a bit of trouble?”). And each and every one of those detentions was given by Professor Vector. </p>
<p>The first was Third Year, when Albus came to class wearing green hightops with little cacti embroidered into the canvas. They didn’t match the regulation uniform, and Professor Vector had noticed. She also noticed Albus pointing his wand at Scorpius’s brogues and trying to give them a little embroidered artwork, too. She docked them ten points each and made them come back that night for an hour-long detention, where they would dust each and every bead of the magical abacuses used to predict future weather-related disasters. </p>
<p>The next few detentions occurred over Fourth and Fifth Year. Scorpius and Albus joked all throughout class, falling silent only when Professor Vector would whip her old head around and stare them down. </p>
<p>Once, during a lesson on planetary movement, while the two were supposed to be tracking and plotting the orbits of Earth and Venus and drawing out the flowery geometric patterns into their notebooks, Professor Vector foolishly remarked on the mathematical cosmic harmony of the “Venus Dance.” </p>
<p>Snickering, Albus nudged Scorpius and said, “Can I see Uranus dance?” and even though the joke was stale, and pretty immature, Scorpius snorted out a laugh, which sent Albus giggling, which gave Scorpius a case of the belly laughs, which caused Albus to bang his fist on the table and give his best Madam Pince’s <i>”Hush!”</i> impression, and <i>that</i> caused Professor Vector to dock twenty points each from Hufflepuff and Slytherin and issue detentions for two hours, where the boys would sit at opposite ends of her classroom and grade her Fourth Year students’ latest number charts. </p>
<p>Yes, there was something magical about numbers. And something extra magical about Albus’s laugh. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The crowd has dissipated a little, and Scorpius was getting nervous that Albus would spot him. So he pulled his shoulders back, cleared his throat, and started walking toward the booth, all the while thinking of the latest detention he and Albus got together during last year, their Sixth Year. </p>
<p>It was just like any other Arithmancy class. Professor Vector waving her wand, a string of numbers appearing out of thin air as she recited a pattern and different wizarding events she thought coincided with each third digit. Scorpius was listening to her lecture, and Albus was right beside him, doodling in the corner of Scorpius’s parchment. </p>
<p>Their eyes met a few times, and Scorpius, as had happened countless times before, admired the brilliant green looking back at him. Albus had smiled and had stopped his doodling. He turned his attention back to Professor Vector and set his quill down so he could drum his fingers over the cracks of the old oak desk. </p>
<p>Scorpius didn’t know what foolishness came over him, but he had decided then and there to try something. To see if there was even an infinitesimal probability that Albus liked him back. He moved his arm just slightly and, as casually as he could, placed his hand over Albus’s. </p>
<p>There was a moment—the smallest, quietest moment—where Professor Vector’s voice faded to nothing and all that existed was Albus’s fingers under his own—before it all went to hell. </p>
<p>Albus jumped up out of his seat so hard that the top of his thighs hit the table and sent ink bottles, quills, books, and parchment flying to the floor. </p>
<p>“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Scorpius had said. Albus had snatched his hand away and was looking at the mess below. He went to touch Albus on the shoulder reassuringly but then pulled back at the last minute. That was no good. He was going to mess things up even more. Albus looked back at him then, wide-eyed and lips parted, perhaps about to say something—</p>
<p>“Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Potter.” Both Albus and Scorpius snapped their heads back toward the front of the class to Professor Vector, who looked utterly exhausted at the sight of them. “Five points from both your Houses for disturbing the class, and detention for both of you tonight. The chalkboards need cleaning.” </p>
<p>They never talked about it. Both did their best to not make their detention, or their remaining classes, awkward. Scorpius didn’t try to touch Albus again, because openly flirting wasn’t worth losing the closest thing he had to a friend. </p>
<p>They were friends, right? </p>
<p>That’s what was running through Scorpius’s mind as he approached the booth. Albus still hadn’t looked up from his book, <i>Traversing Through Time and Space: A Transtemporal Traveler’s Guide</i>, so Scorpius cleared his throat again. </p>
<p>“Oh, hello, what can I—Scorpius!” Albus sat up from his stool behind the booth and smiled broadly. “How are you?”</p>
<p>“I’m good!” Scorpius said at once. Albus was even prettier in the sunshine of late June. His dark golden skin was even tanner, and his eyes greener. He was quite freckly, too. Scorpius realized he was nodding way too hard to be considered normal, so he toned it down. “Great, actually. Cool fair, huh?”</p>
<p>“It’s alright,” Albus said, shrugging. He was leaning over the booth and adjusting a string of multicolored banners that hung decoratively against the white woodgrain. Pink, green, white, blue, yellow. With intricate cut-outs of hearts, flowers, and quetzals. Papel picado, Scorpius thought the decorations were called, but he’d have to look it up to make sure. </p>
<p>“I didn’t know you had a booth here,” Scorpius said. “Though, I haven’t been in such a long time.”</p>
<p>“Oh, really? I usually see loads of people from school. But I’m back here most of the time. And yeah, this is our booth. For our paletería.” Albus said the word so perfectly. Did he speak Spanish? Why didn’t Scorpius know this? </p>
<p>Scorpius looked at the menu tacked to one of the booth’s posts. It was a large letterboard listing all the flavors, the letters magically shuffling and words—flavors—appearing. His eyes scanned the options. </p>
<p>
  <i>Helados</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>rosas<br/>
cacahuate<br/>
vainilla<br/>
cajeta<br/>
aguacate<br/>
horchata<br/>
chocolate con chile<br/>
rompope<br/>
mango endiablado</i>
</p>
<p>And then, right under that,</p>
<p>
  <i>Nieves de Agua</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>guayaba<br/>
mandarina<br/>
guanabana<br/>
coco fresco<br/>
tuna roja<br/>
piña-hierba</i>
</p>
<p>The tilde on top of the n danced at Scorpius. Wayward exclamation points, some of them upside down, began to insert themselves at random.</p>
<p>“Um, what’s the difference?” Scorpius asked, and he pointed to the two sections of the menu.</p>
<p>“Well, we’ve got ice cream,” Albus said, and he tapped the top of the menu. “Of the Mexican variety. And—” he pointed to the list of nieves—“nieves.”</p>
<p>Scorpius found that last bit the least helpful. He looked at Albus, who was just standing there, smiling brightly back at him. Scorpius noticed then that Albus was wearing a collared shirt with tiny waffle cones and scoops of ice cream printed all over it. He couldn’t see from the other side of the booth, but he wondered if Albus was wearing his embroidered shoes. </p>
<p>“I don’t know what nieves are,” Scorpius said hopelessly. </p>
<p>“Oh! Of course. They’re like sorbet. Come in a bowl. The ice cream comes in a hand-rolled sugar cone, and the paletas, of course, come on a stick.” He said all of this as if he’d had to explain it before to other clueless people. And while Scorpius mulled his choices over, Albus heaved out from behind the booth a large ice box with a glass lid. Scorpius peered over the counter and saw, through frosty glass, tubs of ice cream and sorbets and a rainbow of perfectly lined ice lollies. </p>
<p>“I think… that I’ll have an ice cream. Um, vainilla. I’m assuming that’s vanilla…”</p>
<p>“Adventurous you are,” Albus said, smirking. He pulled a scoop from behind the booth and opened the ice box. While he plopped two generous scoops of ice cream into a cone, he said, “Toppings? I can add a waffle biscuit, passion fruit sauce, or cajeta. Your choice.”</p>
<p>Not wanting Albus to think he was boring, Scorpius asked for passion fruit sauce, whatever that was. Albus nodded and brought out a container of relish, bright and syrupy and the color of marigolds, and poured some on top. He turned his back to Scorpius, shuffled around for a bit, and then turned back and presented a beautiful ice cream cone wrapped in a turquoise napkin. </p>
<p>Scorpius was pulling out tickets from his pocket. “How many?”</p>
<p>“On me,” Albus said. “Save your tickets for a dancing pretzel or something.”</p>
<p>Scorpius happily took his ice cream cone, and angling it so none of the sauce would drip onto his hand, gave it a lick.</p>
<p>The sauce was fresh and tangy and stuck to his lips. The vanilla was not like what he had at Florean Fortescue’s or down in the Hogwarts kitchens. The flavor was purer, more vivid, as if someone had cranked his taste buds up several hundred levels and then administered an electric, vanilla bean shock straight to his tongue. What had seemed so familiar and overtaken by the creaminess of the dessert was now what was standing out most of all. <i>Vainilla.</i></p>
<p>Between licks, and stepping to the side to let someone else read the menu and order, Scorpius asked, “So, did you do the Arithmancy homework yet?” <i>Talking about homework? What an idiot!</i></p>
<p>Albus looked up from doling out nieves—soft, icy mounds in a rainbow of hues—to a group of teenage girls. “The problem set or the essay?”</p>
<p>“Both?”</p>
<p>“Yes, you nerd,” Albus said. “I struggled with number four on the problem set, and I wrote my essay on proofs.”</p>
<p>Peeking up, Scorpius began to ramble: “I did mine on morphogenesis. I was going to do an analysis on Goldbach’s conjecture—did you know Christian Golback went to Durmstrang? Sorry—but it got too convoluted. Anyway, I think I may have gone off topic a bit when I went into Cartesian geometry, but I—what?” Scorpius was aware that he was talking too fast, and that Albus, and his patrons, now two eldery wizards with their own ice cream cones and festive napkins, were staring at him. </p>
<p>The silence seemed to stretch on. Merlin, what was wrong with him?</p>
<p>“That’s amazing!” Albus exclaimed, and he took the food tickets from the wizards and shoved them into his till, not even checking how many there were. The drawer shut with a loud <i>clang</i> and Scorpius was snapped out of his inward panic. “I’ve had <i>no one</i> to talk to about my essay with,” Albus went on. “My parents look at me like I’m speaking a different language but you—this is great!”</p>
<p>Scorpius was relieved. He leaned against the counter, now free of customers, and continued eating his ice cream while Albus talked. Merlin, did he like to talk. </p>
<p>“I did mine on magical proofs,” he said again. </p>
<p>“Ah, proofs,” Scorpius said with the air of a wizard three times his age and thrice as sage. “<i>The idol before which the mathematician tortures himself.</i>” </p>
<p>“I beg your pardon, Sir Eddington,” Albus said, and Holy Helga did Scorpius miss their little references and how they both always knew what the other was saying. “<i>An elegantly executed proof is a poem in all but the form in which it is written.</i>”</p>
<p>“Morris Kline? How modern.”</p>
<p>They laughed, and then Albus said, “I, er, better get back to work.” He nodded behind Scorpius, to where a queue for the paletería had started to form. Scorpius was disappointed. He had just got there! And he had never seen Albus like this, in the sunshine and free from a teacher’s sharp reprimand. But he respected entrepreneurship. </p>
<p>“I’ll just go then,” he said, walking backwards. His ice cream had started to melt down the palm of his hand and onto his wrist. He licked some of it off. </p>
<p>“Enjoy the festival!” Albus yelled. And then he disappeared behind a new group of witches and wizards making an order. </p>
<p>Scorpius walked on. He was down to the cone, and it was just as delicious as the ice cream. It looked a little like a hard, rolled crepe. Sweet and crispy and a little soggy on the inside. His hands were sticky when he finished—he always talked or thought too much when he ate and inevitably made a mess—so he pulled out his wand and muttered a soft <i>Aguamenti</i> to wash off. He still had the napkin that Albus had wrapped the cone in, and he used it to dry his hands. </p>
<p>He was just about to dab at his face when he saw on one corner of the napkin, in such tiny neat handwriting that he could have missed it, <i>Hi.</i></p><hr/>
<p>Scorpius pocketed the napkin after folding it gently and making sure that the pen ink wouldn’t get smudged in his pocket. Stupid thing, probably, to save a little note. But what was the harm in keeping it? In taking it home and putting it in one of his desk drawers? Proof that he had a friend. Because he and Albus were friends, right? </p>
<p>Friends willingly sat next to each other in class and joked about homework and number theory and obscure magical mathematical concepts, right? </p>
<p>But friends also hung out outside of school, Scorpius thought. Or outside class. They wrote to each other. Or invited each other over to their houses or on holiday or to meander in a village or city. Right? </p>
<p>Scorpius walked the rest of the fairgrounds alone. He passed more food and drink stands and tents where you could sit out of the sun and cool down. There were first aid tents and tents for children whose parents needed a break.He saw a face painting booth where everyone left sparkly and bright and booths selling trinkets and souvenirs where everyone left with totes and bags bulging with gifts and keepsakes. </p>
<p>At one trinket booth, Scorpius picked out a pair of mismatched socks—one with little snitches and another with tiny bottles of Butterbeer—for his dad and a lovely knitted periwinkle scarf for his mum to wear in the wintertime. </p>
<p>A few times he saw some classmates, including his fellow Hufflepuff Prefect Hattie Popkin, who was there with her overexcitable parents. Hattie’s mum and dad were some of those so enchanted by Harry Potter after the war that they named their child after him. There were several Harrys and Harriets traipsing the corridors of Hogwarts a decade after the final battle, when naming your child after a hero was considered fashionable, and sometimes, even twenty years later, a new child with a version of “Harry” as a name popped up. When Hattie caught Scorpius’s eye, she waved politely, her rounded frames falling slightly down her nose. </p>
<p>Karl Jenkins, another Hufflepuff and one of Scorpius’s dormmates, waved hello at him from a facepaint booth, where he was getting the wings of a Thestral painted around his eyes while his friends stood back and watched. </p>
<p>Scorpius also saw his nemesis, Craig Bowker, Jr. Now, Craig didn’t know he was Scorpius’s sworn enemy, but of course he was. He was the only other contender for Head Boy, Scorpius was sure of it, and the imaginary animosity living freely in Scorpius’s head would be resolved later that summer when Headmistress McGonagall sent one of them that coveted badge. </p>
<p>At the community garden, Scorpius saw Professor Longbottom giving a lesson on pruning common flowering shrubs and directing his viewers to purchase some singing succulents from his booth. And down by the small lake were several members of the Hogwarts swim club (it looked as if the Gryffindor Grindylows and the Slytherin Squids were competitive as ever as they lapped around the lake and other waders, splashing and annoying everyone around them, including the Hufflepuff Hippocampuses and the swimmers for Ravenclaw, the Ramoras). </p>
<p>Twice Scorpius skirted around the edges of the grounds specifically for rides and games, the Fun Park, clearly defined by more balloon archways and wooden sign posts that read “WARNING: FUN AHEAD!” and “APPROACHING DANGEROUS LEVELS OF THRILL!” </p>
<p>Feeling his gut twist with the not-so-distant memory of his last thrilling go on an amusement ride, Scorpius continued to just walk the perimeter of the Fun Park, staying in the periphery of everyone else’s fun, like usual. He shoved his hands in his pockets and kept his head down among the cheers and whoops of children and teenagers, feeling more alone than ever. </p>
<p>But his gloomy outlook was short lived. Because by Dumbledore he was at Dobby’s Birthday Party. A party for the bravest elf who had ever lived. A party where he was meant to have <i>fun.</i></p>
<p>So he forced a pep into his step and trotted onward, knowing that there was plenty of other festival to see. </p>
<p>But somehow he wound up right back in front of Paletería Potter. </p>
<p>“Hullo again,” Albus said. He had no customers and was back to reading his book on time travel.  </p>
<p>“Did you know that Muggles think that time travel to the past isn’t possible?” Scorpius asked, unable to help himself. It had been so long since he had a proper conversation about arithmancy or maths or physics or numerology. “They’ve got this theory—the chronology protection hypothesis—”</p>
<p>“That says something’s always going to prevent us from going back in time? Yes, fascinating right? But Muggles, they—”</p>
<p>—don’t have magic.”</p>
<p>“—or Time-Turners. They’ve got it right with general relativity. And that time can fold back on itself, if there’s enough of an energy emittance—”</p>
<p>—but what they’re missing is the sheer force of that energy to blast them back onto an earlier point in linear time and make those closed timelike curves! Not us, though, because we’ve got—”</p>
<p>“Magic,” they said together. Scorpius grinned. But because he didn’t want to seem like a total love-struck loser, Scorpius quickly scanned the menu for something to order. </p>
<p>“Can I get, uh, a nieve?” </p>
<p>“What kind? Mind you, we’re all out of coco fresco.”</p>
<p>“Um, is the tuna roja… fish?” Scorpius tried very hard to not make a face. He absolutely <i>hated</i> fish. Always had. And even if Albus Potter handed him the prettiest, most appetizing soft-serve fish sorbet, well, Scorpius would just vomit it back up.</p>
<p>“No,” Albus laughed. “It’s fruit, from a cactus. Prickly pear?”</p>
<p>“Oh,” Scorpius said, relieved. And then, “Is it sweet? I like sweet.”</p>
<p>“Not really. It’s a bit tart. Fleshy. Good, though.”</p>
<p>“Ah.” Scorpius wasn’t quite convinced. </p>
<p>“Maybe a mandarina? I can make it sweeter for you, if you’d like.” </p>
<p>“Okay, I trust you.” And Scorpius watched Albus pull from under the counter the giant ice box. Nieve de mandarina was orange, of course. A bright, and soft, tangerine. Sweetened with honey and thickened with pectin, Albus said. The natural ingredients kept the sorbet from forming hard ice crystals while it was being stirred, he explained.</p>
<p>Albus scooped the nieve into a bowl and then, as he had before, turned his back to Scorpius for a moment before turning back around. He had topped the nieve with another drizzle of honey and a sprig of basil, and had tucked into the scoop a small wooden spoon. </p>
<p>“Ta-da,” Albus said. </p>
<p>“Ta-da, indeed,” Scorpius echoed. He was about to take his first bite when something very solid slammed into him, causing him to stumble forward and almost drop the entire bowl. </p>
<p>“Oh, god, I am so sorry! Are you okay? Did I make you drop your ice cream? I’m so sorry!” Scorpius blinked a couple of times through the overwrought apology and tried to focus on what, or who, was blabbering in front of him. </p>
<p>Of course, he knew who she was. Lily Potter. She was a couple of years behind Scorpius at school. She looked remarkably like Albus, tan and freckly, but with brown eyes and her long dark hair pulled into a high ponytail. Her ears were adorned with several earrings—star studs and small hoops and little moons dangling from dainty chains. She wore a pendant, too: a little blue rectangle, with an illustration of a crescent moon with a side profile and <i>La Luna</i> printed underneath. She would be a picture of perfectly cool if she wasn’t still stuttering out a nervous apology. </p>
<p>Sometimes there was nothing more emphatic than anxiety. Scorpius knew that well. </p>
<p>“Lily, let him breathe,” Albus said. He had his face half-hidden behind his hand, as if he couldn’t have been more embarrassed. Scorpius thought, no matter how weird or offbeat or loud or <i>anything</i> a sibling of his could be, he could never be embarrassed or ashamed by them. Yes, Scorpius Malfoy had all the sweet naivety of an only child. </p>
<p>Albus, who Scorpius knew to be both the younger brother and the older brother, smack dab in the middle of his siblings and quite a large and famous family, did not have such delusions of perfect sibling camaraderie. </p>
<p>“Go away, Lily,” he said. </p>
<p>“No,” Lily said back, with all the air of someone who had no interest in going away. </p>
<p>“All right, then.” Amenable Albus. “What do you want? No, not you—sorry, what can I get you?”</p>
<p>Lily pulled an <i>oops</i> face and sidestepped a couple who had come to order something from the paletería. Albus glared at her briefly before scooping out more ice cream for his customers. </p>
<p>Scorpius tried a bit of nieve, finally, and had to stop his eyes from rolling back into his head; the nieve was creamy and smooth, with a fragrant citrus bite. It was far better than any sorbet he had had at Hogwarts, at his manor, or anywhere. </p>
<p>“You’re Scorpius, right?” Lily was back in front of his face, her ponytail bouncing as she chatted at him. </p>
<p>“Yes,” he said. </p>
<p>“I’m Lily Luna,” said Lily Luna, as if Scorpius wasn’t completely aware of who Lily Luna was. </p>
<p>“I know. I mean, I’ve seen you at school. Albus may have mentioned you—”</p>
<p>“Oh, no he didn’t!” Lily said, waving her hand about, as if Scorpius’s words were glumbumbles in the air and she needed to get rid of them, but she didn’t seem at all offended. “He mentions you, though! Quite a lot.”</p>
<p>“He does? You do?” Scorpius’s next bite of nieve was suspended in mid-air as he looked back and forth between Albus and his sister. Albus, who was serving more ice cream and some ice lollies to a gaggle of small children and their weary-looking caretaker, shrugged. </p>
<p>“I talk about my favorite class sometimes…”</p>
<p>“That’s putting it lightly,” Lily said. “Albus <i>loves</i> Arithmancy. One summer he begged our parents to let him take a local summer class on maths! Muggle mathematics! And it’s ‘Scorpius says this’ and ‘Scorpius thinks that’ and ‘I just love Scorpius’s big, fat—’”</p>
<p>“LILY!”</p>
<p>“‘—brain.’” And Lily smiled evilly, and Scorpius thought that maybe she didn’t look like Albus much at all. </p>
<p>“Anyway,” Lily said brightly, unperturbed by any awkwardness she might have caused, “I’m here to ask if you’ve seen my banjo.” </p>
<p>“You play the banjo?”</p>
<p>“Nope, haven’t seen it.”</p>
<p>“Yes, I play. Well, not currently since I can’t seem to find it, and are you sure, Albus?”</p>
<p>“Last I saw it was in your tent.”</p>
<p>“You’ve got your own tent here?” Everyone sure seemed much more acquainted with the festival than Scorpius. </p>
<p>“She’s performing,” Albus supplied. </p>
<p>“The tent! Duh!” Lily smacked her head. “I keep forgetting they gave me a tent this year.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, yeah, you’re a big deal.”</p>
<p>“Well I’m not the main attraction. I’m only <i>opening</i>.” Lily gave a grandiose wave of her arms. Bangles on her wrists jangled. “Don’t mind Albus,” Lily said, turning to Scorpius again. “He’s very proud of me.”</p>
<p>“She’s okay.”</p>
<p>“Can I watch you perform?” Scorpius asked. He was down to the last of his nieve and was scooping what was left from the sides of the little bowl. “When do you go on?”</p>
<p>“Not until Sunday. Again, I’m opening for the main act that night. Just a little singing, a little string picking.” She mimed playing the banjo. </p>
<p>“I play the triangle,” said Albus. </p>
<p>“Really?”</p>
<p>“No.”</p>
<p>“<i>Anyway</i>,” Lily said again, rolling her eyes at her brother. “I’m going to go check the tent. See you, Albus. And nice to meet you!” She waved as she ran off. </p>
<p>“Cheers,” Scorpius said. </p>
<p>So that was Albus’s sister. Scorpius felt like he was learning quite a lot this weekend. That Albus was just as interested in Arithmancy as him, and that he had this—this whole ice cream booth that he worked, and that his sister was some type of wannabe folksy troubadour who sang and played the banjo. </p>
<p>And that Albus talked about him at least once to her. Possibly to other members of his family. What specifically had he told them? What did he even know about Scorpius? They were friendly in class, sure. But what else could he know? Not much, probably. </p>
<p>“Are you coming back tomorrow?” Albus asked. He was serving someone else now while Scorpius stood, bunglingly with his empty bowl in one hand and the little wooden spoon in the other, eyes unfocused and mind wandering to what Albus thought of him. </p>
<p>“Um, yes!” Scorpius said, slightly startled. He tossed the bowl into the nearest bin but fiddled with the spoon, just to give his hands something to do. “I’ll be here every day. There’s so much to do, you know?”</p>
<p>“So I’ll see you again? Tomorrow?” Scorpius couldn’t tell if that was Albus’s way of telling him to leave or inviting him back for another ice cream. It was probably the former, since Scorpius had yet to give Albus any of his food tickets or pay him with any real money (at Albus’s insistence, but still). </p>
<p>“Yes, if I have time I’ll try to make it back,” Scorpius said, trying to sound as if he had anything better to do. </p>
<p>The queue to Albus’s booth was getting longer and starting to wind around a neighboring stall that sold fancy chocolates and cheeses, so Scorpius said goodbye and headed off. He was still playing with the spoon and considering throwing it in another nearby bin, when something written on the back of it caught his eye. </p>
<p>Scorpius smiled as he read the words, in the same handwriting as what was on the carefully folded napkin in his pocket, but having smudged a bit from the sweat on his fingers. </p>
<p>
  <i>You are an enormous geek.</i>
</p><hr/>
<p>
  <strong>Saturday</strong>
</p>
<p>“Headed out?” </p>
<p>Scorpius answered his mum with a nod and a kiss on the cheek. She was sat in their sunroom, reading a novel and sipping on tea. His father was there, too, watering the plants that hung overhead. </p>
<p>“It’s a nice day for it,” Draco said. Scorpius looked out of the large windows and into his family’s dense gardens. Sunlight was streaming in through the trees, casting pockets of light and shadow on the crushed stone paths. “Did you want us to go with you?”</p>
<p>Scorpius considered it. He had fun with his parents, most days, but he’d tackled the first day of Dobby’s Birthday Party all by himself, hadn’t he? And his parents got along well enough without him, he thought, and he turned away from them in embarrassment. Draco had leaned over and was giving Astoria a long, lingering kiss, making her wicker chair creak and her book lay forgotten in her lap.</p>
<p>Gross.  </p>
<p>“I’ll just get going then,” Scorpius said. </p>
<p>“Have a good time, love!”</p>
<p>“Get me a souvenir!”</p><hr/>
<p>The festival was even more crowded the second day. Headliners for the night’s concerts were listed on a glowing marquee at the entrance, and performers on broomsticks circled attendees, offering programmes and tickets to different shows (“Willy Widdershins’ Wacky Wiles!” and “Stubby Boardman and the Hobgoblins Revival Tour”). </p>
<p>Scorpius jumped out of the way just in time, as a pair of acrobatic witches in purple and blue glittery jumpsuits backflipped past him. Grabbing a few programmes, and exchanging more of his money for food tickets and game coins, Scorpius went deeper into the fairgrounds. He decided that this day he would check out the lake some more, and maybe the overgrown sunflower field his mum had told him about. </p>
<p>But first, he wanted something to eat. Something cold, to make the warm June day a little easier to tolerate. And okay, if he just so happened to go back to Paletería Potter, then what of it? And if he just so happened to find Albus there, who cared? It was a perfectly normal thing to visit a friend. </p>
<p>Right? </p>
<p>Albus was at his booth, busy serving up ice creams to a family of five. When he saw Scorpius approaching, he smiled and waved. Scorpius took that as a good sign. </p>
<p>Getting closer, Scorpius appreciated that Albus looked as cute as ever. He was wearing a sleeveless shirt. with a melting ice cream cone printed on it and the words, “ice crime” in bright pink.</p>
<p>But Scorpius could focus only on the very bare and freckled shoulders. And arms. Albus had arms. Well, of course he had arms, Scorpius thought. But these were <i>arms.</i> </p>
<p>“What do you want to try today?” Albus asked when the family had left and Scorpius was the only customer at the booth. </p>
<p>It took every ounce of effort that Scorpius had to pry his greedy little eyes away from Albus’s appendages to instead look at the menu. “What’s rom..pope?” he asked. He tried very hard not to sound like a total idiot when he said it. And bless Albus, because he didn’t laugh at his most definite mispronunciation. </p>
<p>“Rompope is vainila with rum.”</p>
<p>“Um, I’ve tried the vanilla… is the mango en-endab-endabliado as ominous as it sounds?”</p>
<p>Albus laughed and said, “It’s spicy, yeah. But I think you can handle it. It’s mango and chamoy.” And at the confused look on Scorpius’s face, he explained, “Pickled plum sauce.”</p>
<p>“Um—”</p>
<p>“Or!” Albus said, and he started pulling out the ice box beneath the counter. “How about an aguacate? It’s avocado and, like, a classic flavor. You’d be missing out if you never tried it.”</p>
<p>And while avocado ice cream sounded weird, Scorpius welcomed a flavor other than spicy pickled plum mango. </p>
<p>“Okay,” he said, and he was pleased to see Albus beaming at him. “I’ll have that.”</p>
<p>“Excellent. It’s my favorite. Let me take care of these customers first, though, okay?” He nodded at the new queue and Scorpius waited. </p>
<p>“I didn’t know your family sold ice cream.” He hoped his lingering wasn’t too annoying. He hoped Albus didn’t mind his questions. </p>
<p>Albus, still tending to customers, said, “Oh, yeah. My dad started our paletería. A little before my brother James was born. He—my dad that is—had done a lot of soul-searching and <i>finding himself</i> after the war. He’d learned more about his family—his dad, his grandparents—and their culture. Our culture. He went to Xochimilco in Mexico City, Pátzcuaro in Michoacán, Papantla in Veracruz, and Oaxaca, and all these other villages and cities in Mexico. He learned about ingredients and heladerías and neverías and everything that makes Mexican ice cream, well, <i>good.</i> He met witches and wizards there and learned how they make ice cream with magic, and how some things are still done the old, Muggle, way.”</p>
<p>Scorpius watched Albus work, his shoulders glistening. </p>
<p>“We don’t have a proper shop, or anything,” Albus continued, all while doling out ice creams and sorbets to the next witch or wizard, and then the next, and the next. “We have this booth here, and we’ve got a stand at some farmer’s markets around England, but mostly we just do this for fun. And I’ve been doing the majority of the work lately. My dad’s pretty busy these days. Ministry stuff.”</p>
<p>Wow.</p>
<p>“So you—you make all this ice cream—and with magic?”</p>
<p>“I wish,” Albus groaned. “No, I’m not of age. Yet.”</p>
<p>So he did all this the Muggle way. Double wow. </p>
<p>“It’s not as great as you think,” grumbled Albus, as if reading Scorpius’s mind. “I get up too early. I sweat a lot. And then I serve the masses—oh, not you—thank you! Come again!” There were still customers about, so Scorpius continued to patiently wait for his ice cream, all while listening to Albus when he wasn’t busy scooping, or fetching paletas, or putting tickets into his till. </p>
<p>“I’ll be seventeen in July, and then all this will be <i>much</i> easier.”</p>
<p>“I think it’s wonderful. I wish I had something like this.”</p>
<p>“You can’t, like, into the dark artefacts business?” Albus asked, and his lips twitched into a smile. “Set up a broody little shop and sell twisted monkey paws and cursed jewelry?” Anyone else would have earned a telling off, but Scorpius knew Albus was only joking. </p>
<p>They had cleared the air of it before—the tainted history between their parents—long ago when they first sat next to each other in Professor Vector’s classroom. </p>
<p>It was a thing one did when face-to-face with a member of a famous (or infamous) family. </p>
<p>“My family is <i>reformed</i> remember? We fight on the side of good, now.” And he stuck his tongue out at Albus for good measure. </p>
<p>“What else have you got planned for today? The lake? Going to see a show?”</p>
<p>Scorpius shook his head. “I don’t fancy a swim, and the only show I think I’ll see is your sister’s. Maybe the light show tomorrow, if I had someone to go with. Don’t want to be a total loser. No, today, I think I’ll ride a ride.”</p>
<p>Albus stared at him a moment, his expression unreadable. And then, “Ride a ride? Like the big wheel or the broom swings?”</p>
<p>“Something topsy-turvey and sure to make me spew my guts out. I haven’t been on a ride since the last time I was here, when I was ten. Vomited all over myself and my mum. Been terrified ever since, to tell you the truth.”</p>
<p>“Really?” Albus laughed. The last in the queue had left with several paletas, so Scorpius and Albus were there by themselves. </p>
<p>“Yes! Heights. Acceleration. All the screaming. <i>Not</i> for me.”</p>
<p>“Then why do it? There’s plenty of other things to do here.” </p>
<p>“Just to prove to myself that I can. And also because it’s supposed to be fun.”</p>
<p>“Well, I believe in you,” Albus said, which made Scorpius’s insides do a somersault. “And here you go.” </p>
<p>Scorpius hadn’t even noticed that Albus was working on his aguacate ice cream behind the counter. That he had brought out a sugar cone and had opened the ice box and scooped out the soft ice cream, dreamy clouds a pale, earthy shade of avocado green. That he had topped the ice cream with pomegranate seeds and wrapped the cone in a fuschia napkin. </p>
<p>Scorpius happily took the treat and offered two food tickets, despite Albus insisting he save them for another booth.</p>
<p>“Where else would I want to eat, though?” Scorpius said. Albus mumbled a thank you. </p>
<p>Hoping he wasn’t still being a bother, Scorpius stood off to the side, resisting every urge to check his napkin for a note, and began to eat his ice cream. </p>
<p>Yes, the taste was definitely avocado. But better in about a million different ways. It was sweet and fatty and creamy. It was fresh and paired with the tart little pomegranate seeds, popped off with flavor. </p>
<p>“Do you like it?” Albus asked. </p>
<p>“I love it.”</p>
<p>“Good. Wait a minute before you go to the Fun Park, though. We don’t want it all coming back up.”</p>
<p>Scorpius bid Albus farewell, feeling a little more optimistic about all the rides. He waited until Albus and the once-again growing queue at the booth was out of sight and then hastily finished his cone and unfolded his napkin, looking for ink. For any words, ready to be disappointed that the notes were a one—or two—type deal—</p>
<p>There. </p>
<p>
  <i>No te rajes.</i>
</p>
<p>Scorpius stopped walking. Read again. Mouthed the words. <i>No te rajes.</i> </p>
<p>What the hell did that mean?</p><hr/>
<p>Fate intervened that afternoon. Scorpius was mulling over the latest little message from Albus, playing with the words in his mind, and drawing on every bit of knowledge he had about Spanish, which was very limited indeed, when he bumped right into Lily Luna. </p>
<p>“Ay, watch where you’re—oh, hello!” Vibrant as ever, Lily greeted him. She was wearing big hoops in her ears, and the same La Luna pendant from the day before. </p>
<p>“Hey, Lily,” Scorpius said, and then the most obvious thought occurred to him. “Can I ask you something?”</p>
<p>“The answer is ‘yes,’” she said, smiling. </p>
<p>“Oh, good. Well, I need to know—”</p>
<p>“No, I mean, the answer to your question is ‘yes.’ Definitely yes, he told me himself.”</p>
<p>Scorpius was confused. “What are you—no, I need you to translate something for me. If you can.” Lily’s face fell. </p>
<p>“Oh, okay. What is it?”</p>
<p>“What does ‘no te rajes’ mean?”</p>
<p>“It means something like, ‘don’t back down,’ or ‘don’t give up.’ Don’t try to translate it word for word, because it won’t make much sense.”</p>
<p>“Ah, okay, thanks.”</p>
<p>Scorpius smiled to himself. A few words of encouragement were always appreciated. <i>Thanks, Albus.</i></p>
<p>He walked with Lily and the rest of the crowd down the sunny paths and toward more tents. He was so pleased by the small gesture that he might have been skipping. Lily may have noticed, too, because she was looking at him oddly. </p>
<p>“I like your dress.” </p>
<p>“Thank you!” Lily said, brightening, and she twirled around and tousled her skirt. She was wearing a flowy white blouse intricately decorated with multi-colored embroidered flowers and trimmed with lace. It hung off her shoulders prettily. The skirt was wide and ruffly, and a bright blue with stripes of white, pink, and yellow, and was so long that Lily had to hold it up while they walked the dirt pathways so as to not step on the ends. She had her hair up again, twisted up and braided back with ribbons. Large orange and yellow flowers were clipped in, too. </p>
<p>“It’s for a folklórico dance I’m doing down at the cultural exhibit. Though, between you and me, I’m not very good. I think I’ll try to convince people that’s just how it’s done.” She danced some steps and swirled her skirt in wide and flourished arches, so that the fabric looked as if it were spinning, like a colorful cotton pinwheel. “Do you want to come watch?”</p>
<p>“Oh, I have another appointment,” Scorpius said, not really wanting to watch anyone dance, no matter how quickly Lily was growing on him. “I’m due at the rides and games in a bit.”</p>
<p>“Oh yeah? Who are you meeting there?”</p>
<p>“Um, no one. I’m just going by myself. I want to try a ride. Maybe the Dizzy Dragon. Maybe something that turns me upside down.”</p>
<p>“Go on then! But maybe, you should ask Albus to go with you next time.”</p>
<p>“I think he’s a bit busy with the paletería.”</p>
<p>“He’ll make time for you, I promise. Oh!” Lily smacked her forehead again. It was the second time Scorpius had seen her do that, and he’d interacted with her only twice in one weekend. “I’ve brought you something!” And she pulled her blouse away from her chest and fished around down her shirt—while Scorpius turned away, a little embarrassed—until she pulled out a little pendant, not unlike her own. </p>
<p>But instead of La Luna, there was an illustration of a scorpion against a yellow background, and the words <i>El Alacrán</i> printed underneath. “Wow,” Scorpius said, affection for Lily washing over him in waves, “I love it.”</p>
<p>“It was Albus’s idea,” Lily said, shrugging. “But <i>I</i> made it. Out of an old Lotería card.”</p>
<p>“I really do like it.”</p>
<p>“Good.”</p>
<p>They parted ways at one of the spinning sign posts, Lily heading toward Showcases and Exhibits and Scorpius trotting off to Fun, Fun, Fun. </p>
<p>He felt nauseated just looking at everything in the Fun Park. </p>
<p>The roundabout was spinning too fast, the seats—Hippogriffs and Demiguises and Wampus Cats and Nifflers and Skrewts and other creatures and beasts made out of wood and mounted on posts—were raising and lowering, up and down and up and down, too fast for his liking. </p>
<p>The big wheel was way too high, the cabins rocking precariously as they moved up into the sky and then came back down to just do it all over again.</p>
<p>The swinging brooms, flying out at dangerous angles and spinning fast in a circle as adults and children hung on, made his stomach plummet.  </p>
<p>The Waltzer was there, too, in the center of it all. The floor beneath the rotating cars—made to look like giant cauldrons—undulated and spun. </p>
<p>It occurred to Scorpius, that as much as he loved reading about gravity and g-force and centrifugal force, he very much did not want to experience Newtonian mechanics in this way. </p>
<p>He walked through the the Fun Park, thinking about trying some of the games instead—the enchanted ring toss, the troll strongman, or jinxed darts—he ruminated over Albus’s last note instead. He repeated the phrase in his head so many times that when he came to the ride that intimidated him the most, he was ready. </p>
<p>There it was. The Dizzy Dragon. Large and scary as ever. A turntable floor was spinning, and a set of six metal dragons hovered low over it, each one housing seating for one or two. While the floor spun, so did each dragon in the opposite direction and at varying speeds. </p>
<p>Scorpius waited in line, his hands sweaty and his brain calculating the revolutions per minute around the ride’s axis. When it was his turn to pass through the velvet rope and pick his fate, he walked across the creaky wooden deck on wobbly legs, trying to subtly inspect each dragon for faults or shoddy craftsmanship. In the end, he chose to climb up into the hollowed-out Peruvian Vipertooth as it was the smallest and maybe the least likely to fly too far off its hinges should the ride combust. </p>
<p>He was sat inside and praying to every deity he could think of when the ride started, slowly at first but quickly gathering speed. He soon couldn’t hear his own mantras as the swirling wind around his ears became thunderous, and the chimes and buzzes and dings and whirs of the ride and others around it got louder. </p>
<p>As his dragon hovered higher in the air, spinning in one direction while keeping time and momentum with the floor underneath spinning in the other, Scorpius squeezed his eyes shut and started thinking about happy things, like his mum’s pink rose centerpieces that sat beautifully at their breakfast table every morning, or his dad’s terrible dance moves, or Albus. </p>
<p>Gorgeous Albus who made him ice cream and left him notes and who was sometimes grumpy when Arithmancy class was scheduled for early morning on Tuesdays and who complained about his older brother and who was the reason he got detention but also the reason he was having so much <i>fun.</i></p>
<p>Who was incredibly easy to love. </p>
<p>The ride was over. Scorpius was still in his seat, eyes clamped shut, when the attendant came to tell him to get off. There was no more spinning, no more revolving. No more hovering in the air. </p>
<p>Scorpius ambled out of the Vipertooth, concentrating very hard on keeping all partially-digested food and liquids inside his body. He made it across the rickety wood platform, and past the queue of much braver individuals, and back down on the lawn of the Fun Park. </p>
<p>He had done it. </p>
<p>“Take that, Dizzy Dragon,” he said to himself. “Now, to get more ice cream.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“How was it?” </p>
<p>He had found his way back to Albus, who was again reading, but this time it was a book called <i>Magical Maths Mayhem to the Nth Degree.</i> </p>
<p>“Is that new?” Scorpius said. He hadn’t seen it the last time he visited Thornhill Pond Books with his dad. He’d also never stumbled on it in the Hogwarts library, which was one of the more extensive collections of magical books written in English. </p>
<p>“Just got it!” Albus said, handing it over and pulling yet another book from behind the counter. This one was called <i>Transfinite: Investigating Infinite Objects Numerically, Algebraically, and Geometrically.</i> “My dad knows someone who works in the Department of Mysteries, and she wrote it.”</p>
<p>Scorpius carefully leafed through the pages. They still had that smell—fresh and crisp and inky—and the edges left that papery residue on the tips of his fingers, and the spine had hardly any crease to it. “And your dad just got you this book? From the author?”</p>
<p>“Well, he had it in his briefcase,” Albus said sheepishly. “And it’s due for print. I’m just getting the information a bit early. And giving it to you!” </p>
<p>Scorpius held the book to his chest. “Really? I can have this?”</p>
<p>“It’s very illicit,” Albus said, in mock seriousness. “So don’t tell anyone.” Scorpius didn’t quite know the legality of having a soon-to-be-published text from deep within the most obscure and mystifying level of magical government. But if he gave it a cheeky read just to expand on his knowledge…</p>
<p>“Oh, Albus, this is brilliant!” He sat on the edge of the booth’s counter, careful not to disturb or crinkle the lovely papel picado hanging off of it, and started flipping through the pages immediately, words popping out and imprinting upon his brain at once: <i>quadrivium, enantiomorphs, icosidodecahedron.</i></p>
<p>“Wouldn’t it be fascinating to work in the Department of Mysteries?” he asked Albus offhandedly. He couldn’t get enough of the book; each chapter as he skimmed seemed more exciting than the last. </p>
<p>“I tried to go down there, once, when I was with my dad at his work. I took the lift down to the Ninth Level. I was just about to go through this door when my dad found me.”</p>
<p>“They should call it the ‘Nth Level.”</p>
<p>“They should! I think I’d want to explore the Time Room first.”</p>
<p>“It’d be the Planet Room for me.”</p>
<p>“We should try to go one day, just to see.”</p>
<p>“Deal.”</p>
<p>“Hey,” Albus said, and Scorpius stopped thinking about galaxies and celestial mechanics and selenology for a moment, because Albus seemed a bit strange. His hands were stuffed in the pockets of his shorts and he kept shuffling from one foot to the other. </p>
<p>“What’s wrong?”</p>
<p>“I may have got you something.”</p>
<p>“More gifts today?” And Scorpius pulled the little alacrán pendant out of his pocket and looked at it fondly.</p>
<p>“Oh, you liked it?” Albus said. “It was my idea, you know.”</p>
<p>“I know,” Scorpius said quietly, smiling. </p>
<p>“And I also thought—that maybe, er, you’d like this,” Albus said, and he placed on the counter a small figurine. A little wooden lizard painted bright blue, with intricate patterns in yellows, reds, and greens etched throughout the body and running down the tail. </p>
<p>“It’s an alebrije,” Albus explained. “Supposed to represent magic. My mum, she charmed it, see? I know it’s not much—” And Scorpius saw the alebrije, though made from wood, turn its head slightly and flick out its tongue. </p>
<p>Scorpius was not easily impressed by gifts. He was wealthy, and his parents were generous to the point of spoiling him, so he was never wanting for anything. </p>
<p>He was not like his dad, who was very materialistic and kept all sort of collections, who could easily be swayed by a thoughtful present. Or just a present. Scorpius often thought that his dad was like a bull in a China shop, but instead of running head first into all the porcelain, he bought it all right up and kept it in a fancy curio cabinet. </p>
<p>No, Scorpius was more like his mum. His mum who was flattered by gifts only when they were thoughtful. She liked flowers that Draco figured would look good braided into her hair and bad art Scorpius made as a child. She didn’t like money to be spent just to be spent. She didn’t like demonstrations of wealth in the form of useless trinkets.</p>
<p>Gifts should be meaningful, and personal.</p>
<p>They should make you feel like magic.</p>
<p>“This is… this is magic,” Scorpius said, and he picked up his alebrije and held it gently. And then softer, “I will keep it forever.” Albus looked instantly more relaxed and leaned over the counter, watching Scorpius pet the little hand-crafted lizard on the head. </p>
<p>They were so close, and Scorpius was in such a good mood: he’d rode the Dizzy Dragon without crying or vomiting, and he’d received two lovely little gifts—three if he counted the book. So, he did what just popped into his mind and reached the small distance over to where Albus’s hand was resting on the counter and very, very lightly with the tips of his fingers brushed his knuckles. </p>
<p>“Thank you,” he said, and Albus didn’t pull away. He didn’t even flinch. But he did mumble something. </p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>“...melting.”</p>
<p>“Melting? You’re... melting?”</p>
<p>“No, my ice cream. I, er, left the ice box open.” Albus disappeared behind the booth, and Scorpius sighed. He was doing something wrong, he just knew it. Albus was too kind for his own good, and any minute now he was going to tell Scorpius to shove off and—</p>
<p>“Do you want to get out of here?”</p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>“I’m sure the booth will be okay, and I need to stretch my legs anyway. Do you want to walk around?”</p>
<p>“Oh! Um, yes!”</p>
<p>They left the stall and walked together, Scorpius practically vibrating with excitement and nerves and possibly a sugar rush from the giant bag of Fizzing Whizzbees he’d purchased and inhaled on the walk back after his post-ride adrenaline stupor. Albus walked with his hands in his pockets, and stopped to look at all the stands he’d been missing since sitting at his booth the past two days. </p>
<p>They tried on different wigs at a costume emporium and passed on kitschy beadwork some witches in hemp pants and floral shawls and ugly strappy sandals tried selling to them, two for one. </p>
<p>A face painter decorated their cheeks and around their eyes with stars and glitter and sunbursts, so that when they talked and threw their heads back in laughter, the sun caught their faces and made them radiate brilliant, blinding light. Not at all unlike how Scorpius was feeling on the inside. Light and fluttery and dangerously happy. </p>
<p>Happy enough to guide Albus around by touching the small of his back or pulling the hem of his shirt when he wanted his attention, the backs of his fingers grazing Albus’s skin and making him feel electrified. </p>
<p>He caught himself most times, and felt too forward and ashamed, so he often pulled back. Retreated into himself a little bit and changed the subject. Maybe he shouldn’t take such liberties. Maybe he was reading everything wrong, and maybe even coming to the festival was a big mistake—</p>
<p>“Do you want to go into the funhouse?” Albus was speaking to him. Albus was right in front of his face, all green eyes and dark freckles and gold-tinted skin and arms, arms, arms. Albus, with hands that had grasped his wrists. Hands that were suddenly holding his. Lightly, at first. And then more firmly. </p>
<p>“Do I—want to what?”</p>
<p>“The funhouse,” Albus said, chuckling. “Do you want to go in?” Scorpius pulled his gaze away from Albus’s face (but he absolutely did not let go of his hands) and looked past to see a large red, orange, and yellow tent. Striped, flaps at the bottom billowing, pennant at the top waving, large triple Ws prominently displayed on the banner that hovered overhead, and sparks shooting out every few seconds. It was the grandest tent he’d ever seen. </p>
<p>“My uncles own Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, you know? Of course you do. Anyway, they’ve got a few stands here selling fireworks and prankstuff, but they’ve also got this funhouse. I’ve never been in, but I hear it’s okay?” Albus was rambling, and Scorpius loved it. </p>
<p>They decided to go in. </p>
<p>And they held hands the entire time. Which was certainly <i>not</i> study-partner behavior, right?</p>
<p>They held hands through the hall of mirrors, which distorted their reflections so much that Albus looked short and squashed and Scorpius appeared stretched thin as a noodle. They held hands as they tried to walk across a floor that moved with every step, shaking and rumbling and breaking apart and coming back together again, raising and lowering, and making the Hogwarts moving staircases look like the docile conveyor belts in Muggle airports. </p>
<p>They held hands in the anti-gravity room, where they floated weightlessly and bumped into walls and other people and were turned upside down if they didn’t will themselves toward the exit hard enough. Their hands were clasped tighter than ever when they entered the darkest room of the funhouse and then swiftly ran out, as banshee screams and ghoul wails scared the ever living shit out of them. </p>
<p>And when they reached the tent flaps that led to the outside, and playfully scuffled over who would get to leave the funhouse first, bumping and apologizing to other fair-goers around them, they were still holding onto each other. </p>
<p>“Where to now?” Albus said, breathless and grinning broadly. Scorpius was enamoured. </p>
<p>They ended up heading back toward Paletería Potter because it was getting late and Albus had more ice cream to sell, but not before stopping into one more tent. </p>
<p>“Oh, Albus Severus, how very nice to see you.” A woman greeted them inside the blue and starry tent at once. She was around their parents’ age, pale and blonde and wide-eyed. She wore parsnips and rutabagas for earrings and a necklace of several different silver and brass keys, some of which might have belonged to desk locks or door locks or even cars and which clinked melodiously as she talked airily at them and other customers. </p>
<p>There were other customers in the tent, which housed everything bizarre and unorthodox. Luna’s Oddities and Curiosities, it was called. And this Luna Lovegood Scamander seemed to own it, Albus explained. </p>
<p>Luna’s sons, Lysander and Lorcan, were twins and in Ravenclaw. In the past two years, Scorpius had confiscated a number of weird things from them, as were his Prefect duties, when he caught them in other parts of the castle (but as his slight anti-authority sensibilities were always at odds with his Prefect status, he did return them), such as gobbledegook gobstones that not only gacked out foul-smelling goo but also yelled nonsensical things at whoever lost the game, various Muggle smoking apparatuses, and several pairs of charmed spectacles. </p>
<p>The boys were never mad at Scorpius for taking their things, even if he wasn’t in their house, which usually earned him scathing looks at best and curses at worst from the Gryfindors, Ravenclaws, and Slytherins. No, they would just shrug and drift away, as if everything that happened simply happened and what good was it to fight it? </p>
<p>Both Lorcan and Lysander were in the oddities tent, stacking copies of The Quibbler at the entrance and looking as they always did, a bit lost and as if they didn’t know how they ended up there. </p>
<p>All that was happening in the tent was rather interesting. When Luna wasn’t trying to sell diaphonized rats or singing crystal balls to customers, she was attempting to herd a group of grumbling gnomes around. She hired them, she said, but they weren’t very good at following directions, nor did they accept any form of payment except her collection of root vegetable earrings, which wasn’t selling very well anyway. The gnomes just shuffled about, swiping at people’s ankles and running into the legs of tables and stools, as they were very small, and occasionally grabbing hold of the tent’s flaps and trying to swing themselves out, threatening to bring the shop down altogether. </p>
<p>When Albus yelped and rubbed at his shin after a gnome jumped up and bit it, Luna shrieked with delight, as if Christmas had come six months early. </p>
<p>“Gernumbli gardensi magic, Albus! That’s what’s coursing through your veins now!” </p>
<p>Albus only grumbled back, “Great.” Scorpius crouched down, inspected Albus’s leg and, without any medical or healing training, deemed him good to go. </p>
<p>“Perfect, as usual,” he said without thinking, and he gave the bite mark a little tap with his finger. Albus just grinned. </p>
<p>“Here’s your cursed monkey paw,” Albus said later, as he poked and prodded at a hairy thing displayed on a shelf. </p>
<p>“I knew I lost it somewhere,” Scorpius said. “How will I ever live up to my full evil potential now?”</p>
<p>The tent was full of these disturbing things—taxidermied animal parts and assorted creature eggs, skulls converted into ornaments and enchanted necklaces promising everlasting beauty to the wearer (“This wouldn’t do you much good, would it?” Albus had said, and it was Scorpius who was melting then), and novelty wands made with rare cores, like goblin nose hairs or troll toenails. </p>
<p>“I’m getting this for my dad,” Scorpius said, as Luna wrapped up a yellow and shriveling Hand of Gory, which, instead of enchanted fingers, had digits that leaked pus and emitted foul odors. Scorpius thought it disgusting, but his dad would find it hilarious. </p>
<p>Albus purchased a wizarding reproduction of the Dresden Codex—the glyphs moving against their Mayan-blue painted background, the parchment thickly accordion-folded—while Scorpius, now the proud owner of a rotting hand, was also beckoned over by Lorcan and Lysander and convinced to accept a mystery grab-bag from them, heavily discounted to zero because of his past return of all of their things. </p>
<p>Their purchases bagged and magically shrunken by Scorpius to fit into their pockets, and their moods lifted considerably by all the peculiar things in Luna’s shop, the boys walked together back to Albus’s booth. </p>
<p>“So,” Albus said, resuming his post behind the counter. The paint around his eyes had smeared slightly but was still sparkly. “That was fun.”</p>
<p>“Oh, yes,” Scorpius said, because it was. It was the most fun he’d had in a long time. The only other thing he’d count as just as much fun was Arithmancy class with Albus and anything related to it. </p>
<p>But he didn’t want to seem like too big of an über geek, so he kept that last part to himself. </p>
<p>The sun was setting, and Scorpius thought he should be getting home. There were no shows on the evening stage lineup that he wanted to see, and from his conversations with Albus that afternoon, the paletería sold out pretty fast come dusk, so Albus would be packing up pretty soon, too. </p>
<p>“What time are you coming tomorrow?” Albus asked him, and Scorpius didn’t even feel the least bit embarrassed that Albus already knew he would be back at the paletería stall tomorrow. </p>
<p>“Oh, same as always. Maybe ten or eleven?”</p>
<p>“I was wondering if, er, you would want to come by a little earlier in the morning? Like <i>really</i> early. I could, er, show you how we make the ice cream and we could just, hang out? Before all the crowds come and I get busy. Because we get busy on the last day.”</p>
<p>Frankly, if Albus asked Scorpius to jump off the roof of a moving locomotive Scorpius would, so Apparating to Abbots Ripton to spend more time with one of the greatest people he’d had the fortune of meeting was <i>nothing</i>. </p>
<p>“What time? I mean, it doesn’t matter, I’d love to come. But what time? Just so I know. Should I bring anything? What do I wear? And do we meet here, at the booth?”</p>
<p>“Is seven too early? And no, don’t bring anything, except yourself. And it doesn’t matter what you wear, you always look good. And yes, just meet me here.”</p>
<p>Scorpius was over the moon. He gathered his new book from behind the counter, and he double-checked his pockets for his wand and all the magically-shrunken things he’d purchased that day or received from Albus and Lily. He was grinning the whole time, at the events of the day and the prospect of seeing Albus yet again, in the early morning sun and all by himself, without the rest of the festival on his heels. </p>
<p>“Could I get something for the long trip ahead?” Scorpius asked just before he left, as he pulled another food ticket from his pocket and handed it to Albus. </p>
<p>Albus pulled out the ice box and looked inside, while saying, “Oh, poor you, have to <i>Apparate.</i> Some of us have to rely on our older brother or mum to pop over and have us Side-Along. Wanna try a paleta?”</p>
<p>“You’ll come of age soon enough, young one,” Scorpius said. “And yes, please.”</p>
<p>“Take your pick.” </p>
<p>Scorpius first glanced at the letterboard, where at the bottom was the list of ice lollies. </p>
<p>
  <i>Paletas</i><br/>
<i>de agua o de crema</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>fresa<br/>
zarzamora<br/>
toronja<br/>
sandía<br/>
limón<br/>
jamaica<br/>
donají<br/>
crema y cereza<br/>
arroz con leche</i>
</p>
<p>When he peered over the counter and inside the ice box, he saw rows of perfect rectangular prisms, individually wrapped in clear plastic, and evenly lined and assorted in a rainbow. They were mostly smooth, but some had chunks or other textures.</p>
<p>“Tell me what these flavors are, Albus. You know I’m useless.” He pointed at a solid coral paleta, and then at a creamy white one with dark purple swirls. </p>
<p>“Well, that one is toronja—grapefruit,” Albus said, and he pulled out the coral paleta a little bit so Scorpius could see, “And this one is zarzamora—blackberry,” and he did the same with the other. Scorpius asked him about all the other colors and flavors— crisp watermelon, fresh lime, blood-red hibiscus, creamy cherry dipped in chocolate and nuts, and blends of sunny pineapple and golden citrus, and everything else Scorpius found appetizing. Maybe the paletas would be his favorite things at the booth (after Albus) and he was disappointed in himself for not trying them sooner. </p>
<p>After much deliberation, and after Albus threatened to make him buy the whole stock before it melted because Scorpius kept asking Albus to pull paletas out so he could see them, Scorpius chose what had caught his eye first, the toronja. </p>
<p>Albus opened it for him, discarding the wrapper into the bin, and said, “Now turn around.”</p>
<p>Smiling, Scorpius did as he was told. </p>
<p>“Thank you,” Albus said, and Scorpius turned back around. “Come again!” Scorpius took the paleta, wished Albus a very good night, and walked around the queue slowly forming for the last frozen treats of the evening. </p>
<p>The paleta was smooth and frosty. The grapefruit was tart and biting and made Scorpius screw up his face, but he loved it. And while he held the ice lolly, he did so very carefully, not letting any of the juices drip down to the little wooden stick and onto his hand. </p>
<p>He was also careful not to smudge the stick. Because as he’d guessed, there was very small writing on it. One of Albus’s notes that he was apparently no longer shy about. </p>
<p>Scorpius was at the festival’s entrance, the balloon archway moving just slightly in the cool evening breeze, when he finished his paleta and finally read the words scrawled into the wood grain. </p>
<p>
  <i>You are magic.</i>
</p><hr/>
<p>
  <strong>Sunday</strong>
</p>
<p>Albus had told Scorpius to meet him at seven, which meant that the next day, Scorpius was ready to leave by six, as he had been up at five. He couldn’t help it; he was too excited. Several uninterrupted hours with Albus were imminent.  </p>
<p>Scorpius was spending the last hour before he was to leave re-reading <i>Hogwarts: A History</i> for the fifteenth time. It was his second-favorite book, just behind the latest edition of <i>Numerology and Gramatica</i>, so that’s why he hadn’t read it that much. He was reading the new book Albus had given him the day before, bringing it to the dinner table that evening and hovering it over the bubbles while he soaked in the bath, and then by wandlight in his bed just before he fell asleep. The only reason he wasn’t currently reading it was because he had gotten to one of the last chapters, <i>The Quantum Mechanics of Fate</i>, and 1) was too excited to start it and 2) knew that when he finished it, the book would soon end. And he didn’t want any of it to end. </p>
<p>“Are you going to the fair already?” Scorpius’s mum had just walked into the sitting room where Scorpius was reading, sprawled upside down and across the sofa with his legs thrown up against the back. He looked away from his book and there was Astoria’s kind face, though upside down from his view. </p>
<p>“I’m meeting Albus a little early.”</p>
<p>“Albus? From your Arithmancy class?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, how did you know?”</p>
<p>“Scorpius, love, you may have mentioned him once or twice.”</p>
<p>“Or in every letter you’ve ever sent home since you were thirteen,” said Draco, who had just come into the room, holding two cups of steaming coffee. </p>
<p>“And on every holiday and sometimes at dinner,” Astoria chimed in, taking a cup from her husband and taking a sip. She smiled from behind the cup when Scorpius blushed. </p>
<p>“Oh, come on—”</p>
<p>“‘Dad, Albus Potter is the smartest and most fittest boy in all of Hogwarts!’” Draco said, making his voice higher and his eyelashes flutter coquettishly. </p>
<p>“I don’t sound like that!”</p>
<p>“‘Oh, Mum, Albus Severus is just <i>so</i> funny and <i>so</i> kind and <i>so</i> cute!’”</p>
<p>“Mum! Dad, tell her to stop—”</p>
<p>“We’re only teasing, sweetheart,” Astoria said, still laughing in between sips from her cup. Draco was chortling to himself, practicing his Scorpius impression under his breath, and almost choking on his own coffee. </p>
<p>Scorpius had flipped right-side-up on the couch and was just staring at them, arms crossed and peeved. “You two aren’t even funny.”</p>
<p>Astoria stroked her son’s hair from his face. </p>
<p>“I don’t sound like that, and I don’t even say those things,” Scorpius sulked. <i>At least not out loud.</i></p>
<p>“We know,” Astoria said, and she let Scorpius have some of her coffee, which warmed him up immediately, both in general and to his parents, who really could be funny when they wanted to be, though he would never tell them that. </p>
<p>“I do like him,” Scorpius said. There was no point in being dishonest. </p>
<p>“We know that, too,” Astoria said, and Scorpius leaned against her shoulder. She stroked his hair again. “Does he like you back?” </p>
<p>Scorpius shrugged. </p>
<p>“Well of course he does!” Draco said, clearly over poking fun at his son and now on to defending him, which was one of the things Scorpius liked best about his dad. “Scorpius is clever and sweet and dresses well—”</p>
<p>“Thanks, Dad,” Scorpius mumbled. He thought back on all the little notes Albus had given him over the last couple of days—on napkins and on spoons and on ice pop sticks. How he had kept each one safe in the top drawer of his desk in his room. How his Oaxacan lizard alebrije sat on his nightstand. How he’d gone over every little moment from the day before in excruciating detail, from every time Albus took his hand to all the flirty things he said. Maybe his dad was right. </p>
<p>“—and he’s handsome and gets good marks and never smells bad and he's handsome—”</p>
<p>"You said 'handsome' twice."</p>
<p>—well, he is handsome twice!"</p>
<p>“In any case, it's great that you’re spending time together,” Astoria said kindly. She and Scorpius both ignored Draco, who was still talking to himself. </p>
<p>“—and yes, he’s a Malfoy, so what? I’d like Potter to come over and say to my face what would be so wrong about his son dating mine—”</p>
<p>“I want to be his friend more than anything else,” Scorpius said, and it was true. Even if Albus didn’t like him back, at least he had a friend. “I just want to be… something to him. Because he’s been—I dunno, Mum—he’s just been great.  At school. At the festival—”</p>
<p>“—and sure, he’s gotten into spots of trouble, but nothing serious! And all with Albus! And he’s got quite the inheritance, as we all know. We could turn that ice cream shack into the biggest franchise in the entire wizarding world—”</p>
<p>“Galloping gargoyles, Draco, could you give it a rest! We get it, you think our son’s a catch.”</p>
<p>“Well, he is! And if this Albus Frigging Potter can’t see it, then I’ll—”</p>
<p>But Scorpius and his mum never found out what Draco would do if no one returned his son’s affections or saw him as the bright shining star that he was, because they left the sitting room, Astoria stealing Draco’s cup of coffee on her way out, and went to chat in the kitchen instead.</p><hr/>
<p>When Scorpius Apparated onto the Abbots Ripton property, he thought for a moment that he must have made a mistake somewhere between Destination and Determination. He’d landed on his bum as usual, but his surroundings looked so different from how they did on Friday and Saturday. </p>
<p>It was because he was there so early, of course. No one was at the fair on Sunday at seven o’clock in the morning, three hours before opening and almost five hours since many of the stage events and exhibits were to begin, and nearly a whole day before the big bonfire, music performances, and fireworks and light show would start and wrap up the entire weekend. </p>
<p>No, it was just Scorpius and some wayward balloons sticking to the treaded-on grass and a few pieces of flyaway confetti swirling in the air.  Only when he got past the entrance and the initial ticket booths did Scorpius see other people, albeit only a few: a groundskeeper waving his wand at some rubbish he’d missed the day before, a musical group setting up instruments, and a stray donkey walking along the sunflower field, munching on tall weeds whenever it pleased. </p>
<p>It was so quiet on the path that ran adjacent to the lake that Scorpius could hear only the many wind chimes that hung decoratively from the branches of the corkscrew willows and bog birches. The day before, on their way to the other vendors, he and Albus had walked this path and watched people swim. They’d trekked through the small campsite set up just beyond the wading lake and watched wizards and witches hum and chant along to their drum circle, their hands pounding out rhythmic beats across the stretched hides. They’d walked through the narrow hall gardens, admiring the flowering bushes still green and flourishing despite the heat and side-stepping the bubbles, enchanted to be as big as beach balls, floating about. </p>
<p>“There you are,” Albus said, when Scorpius finally reached the food stalls and the paletería booth. “I was nervous that you weren’t going to come.”</p>
<p>“I took the long way around,” Scorpius said, and he leaned on his elbows on the counter and watched as Albus heaved ice boxes around. Thank Merlin he had those arms. </p>
<p>Albus was wearing a new shirt, or at least it was new to Scorpius, who had usually seen Albus in their school robes. This shirt was collared and patterned with paletas in several different colors, and the short sleeves were rolled back once at the cuff. His top two buttons were undone, too, so that Scorpius had a lovely view of Albus’s chest, already shiny with sweat. </p>
<p>Scorpius was starting to feel a little hot around the collar himself. </p>
<p>“Shall we get started?” Albus asked, and Scorpius nodded enthusiastically. He was ever ready to be the attentive student. </p>
<p>“So, I’ve been up since five, prepping,” Albus said, wiping at his forehead. Every morning I get the raw milk ready. We get it from the Burrow—that’s where my mum grew up—where they have some cows and goats. Raw milk is key. That’s what makes Mexican ice cream so creamy and good.</p>
<p>“I’ve got my dry ingredients here or anything that can be prepped the night before,” and he indicated to a large divided container, each section labeled with things like <i>cocoa, toasted almonds, rosemary, mint, chiles, salt</i> and other additives and fixings, “And here is where I store the milk, the pectin, the honey, ice, water, my syrups, and my fruit juices. My parents charmed the ice box, see? So it keeps cold longer than your average freezer.”</p>
<p>Scorpius just kept nodding, and mentally took notes. Raw milk, honey, ice, chiles, Albus’s chest hair. Merlin, he had to get it together. Because Albus was still talking. Scorpius thought he might have mentioned a quiz!</p>
<p>“And this,” Albus had pulled more things out from behind the booth counter—what kind of extension charm was on that stall? And merciful Zeus, Albus’s short shorts were riding up as he squatted—“This is my garrafa.”</p>
<p>The garrafa was big and wooden and cylindrical, like an old butter churn, but without a lid or pole. It came up to Albus’s knees when he stood and housed a metal cylinder inside.</p>
<p>“That’s how you churn the ice cream?” Scorpius guessed, and Albus nodded.</p>
<p>“Right.” And he showed Scorpius how the metal part inside the wooden barrel was actually the garrafa, and how he poured the milk-base of the ice cream into it.</p>
<p>In the gap between the garrafa and the wood, Albus poured large amounts of ice and coarse salt. Scorpius saw the metal frost almost immediately with the amount surrounding it. Then, Albus brought out a large paddle, almost as tall as he was, and which he called Rolanda (“Madam Hooch scares me, okay?”) and began to stir, with great effort, the milk and other ingredients clockwise and then counterclockwise and then clockwise again. He showed Scorpius how to scrape the frozen cream off the sides of the garrafa and fold the mixture—quickly thickening—back into the center, round and round. It looked difficult, and like it took a great feat of strength and learned technique, but sweet Salazar did Albus look good doing it. </p>
<p>He made Scorpius do it, too. Standing behind him, and helping him hold the paddle, which was nearly as long as they were tall, they churned and folded and swirled. The wood in Scorpus’s palms threatened to blister his skin, but the sweet instructive murmurs coming from Albus’s lips, breathy against his neck, made every ache that his hands and biceps and triceps and forearms would surely feel the next day totally and utterly worth it. </p>
<p>They kept churning, and added ingredients according to the flavors—lime juice or coconut or soursop, but no eggs, unlike custard, and not too many ingredients at one time. It was a process. A technique learned and passed down and which thrived on  and benefited from sharing. And Scorpius was glad Albus chose to share it with him. </p>
<p>The effect was a creamier ice cream, free of hard ice crystals and more akin to gelato than anything at Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour. </p>
<p>Scorpius was well acquainted with Mexican ice cream by then, of course, but actually making it opened his eyes even more. It was just <i>wonderful</i>.</p>
<p>“That was.. a lot of work,” Scorpius said, feeling knackered already and stretching his fingers out and checking his palms for forming calluses. </p>
<p>“But now that we’ve got the lesson out of the way, we can use Gwenog and Rubeus!” Albus said brightly. </p>
<p>“Who?”</p>
<p>“My parents’ paddles! They’re, er, a bit more magically enhanced. Makes the churning a <i>lot</i> easier. Can’t wait to get the old charms on Rolanda here,” and Albus patted the paddle with a wistful look in his eye. </p>
<p>“You mean to tell me that we could’ve used magic ice cream paddles instead of me almost twisting my arms off?”</p>
<p>“Yes, but wasn’t this more fun?” Albus said, giving a cheeky little grin. Scorpius thought again of Albus’s chest at his back, of his hands running down his arms to guide him in stirring the ice cream in the garrafa. </p>
<p>“Definitely.”</p>
<p>“Good, now, we need all of our energy to make the nieves and paletas. The old fashioned way, of course.”</p>
<p>Scorpius groaned.</p><hr/>
<p>They worked for hours on the rest of the ice cream. It was a smaller batch that day, Albus explained, because Sunday was the last day of the fair and therefore the shortest. Albus said that he usually closed Paletería Potter early and abandoned the stall for his bed back home, where he collapsed face-first into his pillow, vowing to never work Dobby’s Birthday Party ever again. </p>
<p>While churning and swirling and cooling and freezing and packaging paletas, they talked of all sorts of things. Their families and their classes, the latest books they’d read, where they’d like to travel and what kind of Muggle things fascinated them. And, to Scorpius’s surprise, Quidditch. </p>
<p>“I thought we hated Quidditch?” Scorpius asked, confused when Albus mentioned going to a game with his dad. Of their few classes they shared together back in their early years of Hogwarts, Flying was one of them. Scorpius vaguely remembered both of them having an extremely difficult time even getting their brooms off the ground and good remainder of the term getting bullied because of it. </p>
<p>“I hate <i>playing</i> Quidditch,” Albus clarified. “But I enjoy watching every now and then.”</p>
<p>“Do you have a team?”</p>
<p>“Yes, the Toluca Tamanduas.”</p>
<p>“Never heard of them.”</p>
<p>“They’re international. Got this great red and gold kit they wear. And their star player, Rodrigo Mondragon, he’s amazing! Could really be something if he were to ever play for Mexico’s National Team, but he’s too humble—what?”</p>
<p>“I didn’t know you were such a fan of <i>Rodrigo Mondragon,</i>” Scorpius smirked. </p>
<p>“Well, him and Gonçalo Flores. I am able to split my affections, you know.” </p>
<p>“So, Quidditch players are your type?” Scorpius hoped he didn’t sound so disappointed. </p>
<p>“No,” Albus said, laughing. “Just good imagination fodder. Anyway, would you like to watch Lily’s performance with me later? And maybe go to the fireworks and light show? ”</p>
<p>Scorpius nearly dropped all the paletas he was sorting into the ice box. </p>
<p>“What? Me? What?”</p>
<p>“Would you like to go watch Lily sing with me?” Albus repeated. “She’s never been on a stage this big and I’d like to support her, even if she has been bloody annoying about it. And yeah, with you. And then, if you wanted to, I thought we might stay for the light show. There should be loads of fireworks, too.”</p>
<p>“I thought you went home and sleep for a week after the festival?”</p>
<p>Albus shrugged. “Usually, yeah, but—I like spending time with you.”</p>
<p>An invitation out would usually send Scorpius running in the other direction. Or spinning until he Disapparated elsewhere, anywhere. Or touching every piece of rubbish on the ground that he could find, hoping that what had missed the bin was actually a Portkey out of the country. Or catching the first Night Bus out, motion sickness be damned. He wanted to hang out with other people, <i>in theory,</i> but when faced with the chance at social interaction, something was always tugging him back. </p>
<p>But this was Albus. And Albus was—his what? Study partner? Friend? ...Potential date? </p>
<p>He couldn’t say no, no matter how loud the little voice in his head was screaming at him to decline, decline, decline. </p>
<p>Why didn’t Albus have the decency to be unattractive? Or dull, or cruel, or anything other than the sweet, decent boy that he was? </p>
<p>And why—and how—did Albus have to be a person who could make Scorpius feel not only heard, but understood?</p>
<p>It was unfair, really. </p>
<p>“Okay,” Scorpius said. “Yes, I’d love to.” </p>
<p>Albus beamed. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The two finished setting up the paletería booth, hanging new papel picado across the posts and wiping down the counter. Counting the tickets in the till and arranging and rearranging the ice box (Albus insisted that the ice creams be sorted by color because “rainbows sold better,” while Scorpius suggested they be sorted alphabetically because that just made organizational sense). </p>
<p>When the festival officially begun for the last time that year, and more people began trickling in, theatrically dressed and painted up as ever, Albus insisted that Scorpius go explore.</p>
<p>“You’re not gonna get the chance for a whole year,” he said, as witches and wizards and their children, already begging their parents for ice cream and ice lollies, began queuing up at the stall. “Do it for Dobby!”</p>
<p>“For Dobby!” Scorpius echoed, and he left, promising to check out the tea gardens and the sunflower field labyrinth and maybe another ride at the fun park, and not without a nieve. </p>
<p>Albus prepared him a piña-hierba, the herb being mint this time, and Scorpius happily accepted the lurid, sunny snowball in the little bowl, with his little spoon, and its little note. </p>
<p><i>Be my good friend?</i> it read, and Scorpius felt that maybe things with Albus were finally coming together. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Scorpius did not ride another ride. He didn’t play any games, nor did he explore the gardens. </p>
<p>He Apparated home. </p>
<p>“Dad? Mum? DAD!” Scorpius was bellowing as soon as he’d pushed the large front door of the manor open. He yelled for his parents in the foyer and the great room and the first sitting room. He stood at the foot of the staircase and yelled up, up, up, his voice reaching the very top floor. </p>
<p>“Scorpius, good grief, what is going on?” His dad had appeared, apparently from the kitchen, his hands full of biscuits. </p>
<p>“I just—I need—” Scorpius was panicking a bit. Why had he gone home? Needing his mum and his dad like a child, not knowing what he was supposed to do come evening, when he would be hanging out with a boy, with <i>Albus.</i> “Is Mum here?” His mum could fix anything. </p>
<p>“She wen’ out to mee’ friends,” Draco said, his words mumbled by all the biscuit in his mouth. He swallowed and said, “Anything I can help you with? Want a biscuit?”</p>
<p>Scorpius took a chocolate one from his dad and shrugged. They went to sit together on one of the chaises in the sitting room, Scorpius’s favorite one by the big window, where the light for reading was the best. </p>
<p>“I really, really like Albus,” Scorpius said finally. His dad just continued munching on biscuits. </p>
<p>“You came home in this state just to tell us that?”</p>
<p>“Well, now that Albus has made it clear to me that we’re ‘good friends’ and I just like him more than ever, then that complicates things a bit, right?”</p>
<p>“How so?”</p>
<p>“He wants to go to tonight’s light show with me. He wants to keep spending time with me.”</p>
<p>“Oh, so he wants to date.”</p>
<p>“I—I think so. I mean, he didn’t come out and say it, but I think that’s what he’s been trying to say. I think—I think he may like me.” Saying out loud made things a little clearer for Scorpius. He thought he understood Albus, at least a little more each day. That maybe they had already understood each other from the beginning, when they were only in the margins of each other’s minds, and later, when they were barely even friends. </p>
<p>And that was a good thing, right?</p>
<p>His dad told him once that he married Astoria because he didn’t understand her. That she fascinated him beyond the telling of it and that every day she did something that both charmed and perplexed him. He didn’t understand her, but he loved her, so he planned to spend the rest of his life trying. </p>
<p>“Albus understands me.” Scorpius said, speaking more to himself, but Draco answered anyway. </p>
<p>“That’s... helpful. And good.”</p>
<p>“That’s not wrong? Or—or unexciting?”</p>
<p>“No, that’s how you two communicate, looks like. That’s what makes you feel good, yes? To be understood?”</p>
<p>“By him, yes. When we’re together, since we’ve been talking more every year, and this weekend, I feel like something’s been unlocked. Another door. Another version of me. I want to get to know him. I want him to know me. I want... others to as well.”</p>
<p>Draco listened, and Scorpius babbled on. </p>
<p>“Albus, he... he does these little things that make me feel big. Important.”</p>
<p>“Whatever’s happening between you, I think it’s working, so far.”</p>
<p>Scorpius and his dad shared the remaining biscuits. </p>
<p>“I’ve never felt better.”</p><hr/>
<p>Now that Scorpius was officially a Good Friend to someone, he carried himself a little taller, a little more confident. Because what an honor! To have someone. And to be someone to have. </p>
<p>The festival looked different at nighttime, which was when Scorpius finally returned. He hoped Albus was expecting him to show up in the middle of the day or in the late afternoon. He had stayed home to chat with his dad, to say hello to his mum when came back, and to get ready. </p>
<p>He wanted to look his best so he showered again, and combed his hair, and picked out a smart shirt and his freshest trainers. </p>
<p>He wanted to look his best and feel his best.</p>
<p>“Oh, hello,” Albus said when he saw him. He had cleaned up the paletería stall and was sitting on the counter, feet tapping against the booth. “You look nice.”</p>
<p>“Suitable for imagination fodder?” Scorpius joked. </p>
<p>“Please,” Albus said. “You’re the star of the show.” Scorpius nearly died. </p>
<p>They walked together toward the stages, which were set up on sloping lawns west of the estate. It was fully dark, the sky a deep, dusky purple, the stars overhead signaling sleepy nighttime, especially for two people who’d been up since five, but Scorpius felt more awake than ever. </p>
<p>Albus had brought along a thick blanket, which he laid out on the grass. “For maximum viewing and listening,” he said, and he laid back on it with his hands behind his head. Scorpius lied down next to him, a healthy distance away. He didn’t want to Albus to hear his nervous and erratic heartbeats after all. </p>
<p>Scorpius looked over and saw that Albus had his eyes closed, so Scorpius did the same. There was only faint music playing from a stage far away, something that sounded like it belonged in a nightclub. They had chosen a spot in the grass closest to where Lily would be singing and playing her banjo, but she wasn’t due to perform for a little while. </p>
<p>“You could move a bit closer, if you wanted to,” Scorpius heard Albus say. His eyes shot open and he looked over, to see Albus looking back at him. </p>
<p>“Um, I can?”</p>
<p>“Only if you wanted to—”</p>
<p>Oh, resplendent Rowena, did Scorpius want to. So he did. He scooted over until he was pressed against Albus and they were laying there, side by side.</p>
<p>Scorpius had to remind himself to breathe. </p>
<p>“You okay?” Albus asked, his voice sounding a little strained. Maybe he was nervous, too. </p>
<p>“I’m just—I thought you didn’t like this.”</p>
<p>“Easy listening in a romantic pastoral setting?”</p>
<p>“No, me—touching you?”</p>
<p>Albus propped himself on one elbow to look at Scorpius, who did the same. </p>
<p>“What are you talking about?”</p>
<p>“Last year, in class,” Scorpius said, and Albus made an <i>oh</i> face. “I tried—I dunno—I touched you and you lost it.”</p>
<p>“Okay, I didn’t ‘lose it,’ so much as feel the ground shift under me.” </p>
<p>“I don’t get it.”</p>
<p>“I—I liked it, okay? I liked it so much I brought the desk and all of our things down with me. I was just caught unawares, okay? No one has ever—I just like you a lot and never thought you’d feel the same.”</p>
<p>Scorpius was flabbergasted. He opened and closed his mouth like a Gulping Plimpy. </p>
<p>That happens. When one is an idiot. </p>
<p>And then fate intervened again. If fate was ill-timed and small and excitable and born to be in a string band. </p>
<p>“Hi!” Lily chirped, and she plopped down on the blanket. She apparently had found her banjo as it lay across her lap. She idly tuned it while she talked. </p>
<p>“I’m just about ready to go on.”</p>
<p>“Well, good luck to you,” Albus said, and he shuffled even closer to Scorpius, trying to make something clear to Lily, though Scorpius wasn’t sure if he knew what, or if she did. </p>
<p>“What are you two up to?” Lily looked around at the two of them and how close they were. “Oh—”</p>
<p>“Yeah, oh—”</p>
<p>“Is he being kind to you Scorpius? Do I need to say anything to him?” Lily nodded in Albus’s direction. </p>
<p>“I’m right here!”</p>
<p>“Um, all’s good, Lily, thank you—”</p>
<p>“Oh, nervous are you? I would be too, I mean not with my <i>brother</i>—”</p>
<p>“Go away, Lily,” Albus said, clearly holding back what he really wanted to tell her, which probably would have involved a string of curse words and few good swears. </p>
<p>“Not to be the girl who makes every little thing about her—”</p>
<p>“You are.”</p>
<p>“I am,” Lily agreed, still unfazed by her brother’s reluctance to her unwavering presence. “But I am quite nervous myself. It’s only a few songs, I know, but still—”</p>
<p>Albus had apparently had enough. He covered his face in his hands and groaned, loudly, before saying: “It’s nothing personal, Lily, but, personally, I’m going to need you to leave, because I don’t want you, specifically, to be here right now.”</p>
<p>Lily gaped. “How is that not personal?”</p>
<p>“Lily, <i>please</i>,” Albus said, and there must have been something in his voice that made Lily get up, her banjo under her arm, and leave, but not without ruffling Albus’s hair first and promising to dedicate a song to the two of them. </p>
<p>They continued to lay there in slightly awkward silence, neither not really knowing how to resume the conversation so abruptly interrupted just moments ago. </p>
<p>Scorpius took a crack at it. </p>
<p>“I would be very happy to be your good friend,” he said, remembering the last note from Albus. </p>
<p>“I felt kinda stupid writing that one,” Albus admitted. </p>
<p>“Why?”</p>
<p>“Because you already are my good friend. But I didn’t know if you knew that.”</p>
<p>“I think some part of me did.”</p>
<p>“Well that’s good.”</p>
<p>Lily’s show was starting. They could hear her addressing the audience and introducing herself. Scattered applause and cheers made her stop talking. Scorpius could picture her beaming. </p>
<p>“So that shuts her up,” Albus mumbled, and Scorpius laughed. They were pressed close together again on the big blanket, arm against arm and leg against leg. The freckles on Albus’s cheek were one head turn away. </p>
<p>On the stage, Lily began to sing about hitchhiking in the south out of Roanoke and catching a truck driver and having a nice long toke. And next to him, Albus was humming along. </p>
<p>Speaking of—</p>
<p>“I brought something,” Scorpius said, and he pulled out from his pocket a wrapped sweet. “Courtesy of Lorcan and Lysander.” He handed it to Albus, who twisted the ends open. </p>
<p>“A Jelly Slug?” And then he caught on. “Of the edible variety?”</p>
<p>“Yes, indeed.”</p>
<p>“Wow, Scorpius, I didn’t know you were into the friendly organics.” Albus bit the head off the slug and offered the other half to Scorpius. </p>
<p>“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Albus Potter.”</p>
<p>“Really?”</p>
<p>“No.”</p>
<p>They laughed, and they relished their Jelly Slug. It was enough to make Scorpius’s limbs feel fuzzy and for time to slow down, for Albus to seem too far away, like he was looking at him through a dark and narrow tunnel. </p>
<p>So he got even closer. Albus’s hand found his. </p>
<p>In another galaxy, Lily was singing something else. Slow and euphonious. Sweet as honey butter. </p>
<p>
  <i>Yo sé que el mundo te acercó a mí<br/>
Y es que te juro que no soy sin ti<br/>
Me muero por mostrarte todo lo que soy</i>
</p>
<p>Albus was singing along. While Lily crooned the chorus, Albus leaned in and translated in Scorpius’s ear. </p>
<p>
  <i>Vuelvo a soñar contigo<br/>
Un mundo paralelo al tuyo<br/>
Quiero estar contigo</i>
</p>
<p>“We’ve always been friends, Albus,” Scorpius said, trying to bring back what they were talking about before, and saying it made Scorpius realize it was true. Good friends. </p>
<p>Scorpius half wanted to bolt. To not ruin the perfect moment by asking for something else. </p>
<p>
  <i>Transparente como el viento<br/>
Te apareces en mis sueños</i>
</p>
<p>Lily’s singing and music drowned out the voice shrieking in his head, and all that was left was the snapping of the banjo’s heartstrings and the background bass thudding along in his chest. </p>
<p>And the warm hand in his. </p>
<p>
  <i>Voy a decirte lo que siento<br/>
Que me muero por tus besos</i>
</p>
<p>His head was clear. His heart was happy. </p>
<p>He had—all that he ever wanted and all that could be. </p>
<p>Someone to cling to, someone to rely on. Someone to get fed up with and tell, “You’re driving me mad!” And then go mad with the mere thought of ever being without them. Someone to build a life with and stand beside so all things in life could be withstood. </p>
<p>
  <i>Por tus besos</i>
</p>
<p>“Can we be more?” he asked Albus, who had sidled up so close to him that he could feel his eyelashes tickle his cheekbone. </p>
<p>“Please,” Albus whispered, all breathy and warm. And Scorpius only had to turn his head a little bit to meet him, to feel his lips hover tentatively over his, until they were kissing fully, and sweetly, wrapped up in each other and oblivious to the fading music or the cracking fireworks or the dazzling lights or anything else.</p><hr/>
<p>It was past ten by the time Lily’s show was over. Almost midnight when the headliner went on stage and performed for thousands of inebriated or simply besotted witches and wizards. </p>
<p>Scorpius and Albus had lost all sense of time. Of space. Between them or otherwise. </p>
<p>When Lily finally came over, banjo slung over her shoulder and holding a bouquet of dogwood flowers that some adoring fan had given to her, saying she’d had enough and couldn’t wait any longer, and tapped them on their heads, they pulled apart. Very reluctantly and with plenty of lingering. Scorpius felt flushed from his ankles to his ears, and his hair was sticking up on end. He was pleased to see Albus looking glazed over, unable to get words strung together right and trying unsuccessfully to cover his neck, which was splotchy and bruising. His shirt was crinkled, and the buttons were done up all wrong. He kept readjusting his shorts. </p>
<p>“Honestly, you two,” Lily said, and she led them back to her tent, where she gathered her things, and then out to the stall that formerly housed Paletería Potter just hours before. </p>
<p>“Until next time, old friend,” Albus said, patting one of the posts. Scorpius watched him do a quick inventory of what was left behind the counter and what he needed to take home—the garrafa, the paddles, the ice box. </p>
<p>“Yes!” Lily said, digging through the ice box herself and pulling out a lime green paleta. </p>
<p>“Anything in there for me?” asked Scorpius keenly, peering into the ice box and seeing just one ice lolly left. </p>
<p>“I’ll get it!” Albus said, and he firmly nudged Lily out of the way, almost making her drop her paleta and her instrument. </p>
<p>Scorpius watched Albus, for the last time that summer, go behind the counter, though not as festive now without the decorations or the letterboard, and prepare him a treat. </p>
<p>Lily excused herself, saying she was going to wait for their parents to Apparate over to Side-Along them home. </p>
<p>Albus came back from around the counter and handed Scorpius the last paleta—unwrapped and still frosty, arroz con leche with swirls of Mexican cinnamon—while pulling him in for a long kiss. </p>
<p>“Good night,” Albus told him, and Scorpius kissed him again. He never wanted to stop kissing him. </p>
<p>They made plans to visit that summer, in July and August and to sit together on the train on the first of September. They would write each other and fire-call each other and see each other as soon as possible, okay? Deal. Other sweet things were said, and more kisses and hugs were exchanged, and Scorpius felt lighter than ever on his walk back to his Apparating spot just outside the balloon archway and the stone replica of Dobby, the bravest and greatest elf that ever lived. </p>
<p>He finished his paleta, heart hungry for more, and finally looked at the tiny words hurriedly scrawled across the bottom of the little wooden stick. </p>
<p><i>Para mi querido</i> was all it read, and yet it said so much more. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The bravest and best thing Scorpius Malfoy ever did was decide to go to the summer’s biggest festival.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The festival here is loosely based on one of my local fairs, called Eeyore’s Birthday Party. It’s great fun and a nod to hippie culture. There’s also a bit of influence from The Secret Garden Party. This story is set in June because I wanted some summer vibes, the perfect ice cream weather, and a little outdoor party (Dobby’s birthday is June 28th!). I was also pretty liberal with the prompt’s suggestion of “notes” and “lunch,” so I hope the prompter doesn’t mind the “notes” being on ice lolly sticks! Or the Mexican-isms and Americana-isms throughout. I love the idea of Love Languages. Personally, I think Albus’s are Touch and Words of Affirmation, and Scorpius’s are Acts of Service and Quality Time.</p>
<p>Thank you for reading! Comments are always appreciated!</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>